Vignette: Fletch

Friend of mine, reaches for the table,
A small white death snuggles in his fingers.
He breathes in the sultry clouds...
He breathes out the sultry clouds...
Sorry he never stopped before he started.
Still, he couldn't be sure of himself with out it;
Nicotine makes him stop shaking.
We all know he misses her like he would miss himself.
Crushes his cigarette in the ashtray,
And our pity that smothers him like a feather pillow.
Heavy, heavy boots take the rest of his life away.
He's gone now to smoke in his loneliness...
He's gone now to smoke out his loneliness...
Soon his van will pull away and clatter off,
He'll stand over her headstone, dragging.
He breathes out the sultry clouds...
He breathes in the sultry clouds...
A small, white death burns down, singes his hand,
Friend of mine, reaches for his pocket.