Early autumn winds swirl throughout the night
And the man can't ignite his cigarette.
He thinks of ways to convince it to burn;
Protecting the young thing with a strong hand
Might spark its craving for the same fire!
The smoke disagrees, but he craves the light.

Suddenly the petite thing catches light,
So he can see the beauty of the night
By inhaling the danger of fire!
He dreams of dancing with his cigarette,
As it swiftly dances just on his hand;
Dulling its flame and leaving a burn.

The cigarette now needs to feel his burn,
Yet the man sees a dove, and not the light,
Yet he guards the dainty smoke in his hand
Just barely protecting it from the night.
He ponders dangers of his cigarette
And consequence of playing with fire.

But what young man would turn down hot fire?
So he leaves his sense and lets it burn,
Inhaling each toxin of tobacco's smoke
That can help intensify that red light!
The only light seen in that cloudy night
Is the glowing death trap in his strong hand.

But what happens when it shrinks in his hand,
And the most awesome sight is not its fire,
But the new clouds in the crisp, chilly night,
That cool the wounds which have not ceased to burn
Painfully in absence of that red light!
The passion dims with his small cigarette.

Intrigue is not held by his cigarette
Now; why does he still keep it in his hand?
It finally coughs its last sparks of light,
As ashes form in the place of fire;
The wind takes all but but darkness and a burn,
And the ashes are lost inside the night.

Missing the cigarette's taste, he makes fire
With his hand; his body craves a new burn.
Taken by a new light, so bright to night.