Delicious, irresistible raspberry smoke,
rolling in with the evening fog,
coloring oceans maroon and faces red.
Taste it on your lips, drink it through your pores,
in-out, in-out, in-out.
We call this breathing.
Raspberry smoke, the air we breathe,
poisoning our lives with gumdrop tears.
We love being hopelessly addicted
(and twelve-steps take too much time)
so we keep on sighing,
in-out, in-out, in-out.

Disgustingly natural,
everyone's doing it and, darling, I'm not talking about drugs.
Draw a wild card, drag raspberry smoke in
through silent ohs.

Delicious, irresistible raspberry smoke.
Kiss the mirror, close your eyes,
hat off, hand over your heart.
Feel that bump-bump-bump?
That rise and fall, that
in-out, in-out, in-out?
We call this living
and (basic science, darling) we need air for that task.

And it's so contaminated,
so maddeningly cliché.

But we crave it,
can't live without it,
and it's not hurting anyone.

(yet it's hurting us all, in the end)

Raspberry smoke,
in-out, in-out, in-out.
'Cause when you get down to it
humankind's always loved
good old-fashioned
(delicious, irresistible)
misery.