Smoke Fills His Eyes

Standing in his tower

Waiting to devour

All the peasants with his presents

But they can’t be bought

Then lights up cigarette

The smoke fill his eyes

To no surprise

The illusionist denies his lies

Ashes on the floor

Fire waiting at the door

Spins it in his hand once more

One more shot of whiskey, poured

———

And he says: I was good to them

Can’t sleep at night

Long enough to pretend

Tried to bend their will

But they all move on, mend

———

Standing in the bar

Waiting for happy hour

And all the girls that look like her

But can be lured

Then lights up another cigarette

Playing all her old songs on cassette

To no surprise

They don’t see the illusionist’s lies

Booze on the floor

Users around wanting more

Starts another cycle once more

One more woman destroyed, until he’s bored

Until he’s bored….

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