He wonders at his aching, empty life
The faces that he knows are naught but smoke
And echoes of his own mortality
He stares them down and wonders why they're here
They sing him nonsense words and nothing more;
He knows, to them, his death is but a game
His fevered brain no longer plays their game –
He's sure there's something more than this to life.
Won't listen as they swear there's nothing more.
His tired eyes see visions in the smoke
A story of the man that once was here
Now beaten by his own mortality.
He used to rail against mortality
He laughed at death, and life was but a game.
He bitterly recalls what's brought him here
Now can't outrun his reckless way of life.
Succumbing to his demons more and more –
The fire in his eyes has dulled to smoke.
He takes a shaking breath; exhales the smoke.
Accepts the cancer of mortality
He has his cigarette and nothing more
A cancer stick, a way of life, a game
The glowing ember-tip's a spark of life
The only gift of Fate that's brought him here.
He dared a twist of Fate to bring him here
A chosen way, a path that moves like smoke
He's dwelt among the shadows all his life
The darkness hides his frail mortality.
He laughs his weakness off like it's a game
His hope is gone. Tonight, he dreams no more.
His quiet old despair grows ever more.
He knows with certainty he'll die in here.
At last, the final move of losing game
The room around dissolves in streams of smoke
Stops dreaming of his own mortality
Just waits for fate to finally end his life.
Life; he knows no more
Mortality, at last, here
Just smoke, ends the game.