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The Rocky Fortune
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Pack a day
You were the august breeze in the willow trees he'd climb to hide in
Now you're a windy winter, you're a three inch splinter stuck inside him
You were the sweetest song that was ever sung
Now you sound like a raven; you're a cancerous lung
I'm the smoke between your yellow fingers
I'm nicotine that gets in your blood and lingers
You were the castle walls and the ancient halls that he'd reside in
Now you're an endless siege and the rubble many men have died in
I'm the smoke between your yellow fingers
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I'm nicotine that gets in your blood and lingers
I walked on back roads
You drove away
We are the taste of
A pack a day
I'm the smoke between your yellow fingers
I'm nicotine that gets in your blood and lingers
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