Fifty-five hours, forty-one minutes
Since I last lit a fag.
Fifty-five hours, thirty-five minutes,
Since I last took a drag.
It's all I can think of
Nothing else matters.
For want of a poison,
My brain is in tatters.
I'm taught as a bow-string,
My head's in a clamp.
I'd kill for a dog-end,
Dirty and damp.
Thirty five years of chemical calm,
Of sweet-burning, paper-wrapped, lung-filling balm.
Fifty-six hours, more or less,
Turned me into a gibbering mess.
Apparently, it gets easier…
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