As she sits alone in the rare air at sunset,/
and smokes a cigarette on the porch,/
I think that maybe she doesn't know why./
Maybe she never figured out what life is,/
or she doesn't even care it went unanswered./
She just breathes smoke and ash like a furnace;/
feeds an addiction she never wanted./
But what has life been, anyway, to her?/
Did it even deserve an asnwer?/
Was it just some game to play till you get caught,/
and then give up because it got harder?/
I don't know anymore than why she smokes./
She prob'bly doesn't even care, so why should I?