Pall Mall Red 100's

The wicked hands of addiction
grasp you by the throat
that burns while you hold that
nasty stick of tar upon your lips.
It’s like a chain that never stops
the excuses you make to try and hide the shame of your addiction
The packs full of twenty burned down in just a one day
The coughing fits never stop while you bring another to your lips
Neither you or my uncle realise what brought him so close to death by cancer
even a child like me could see
You dragging on your cessation with every drag you take
When you keep ashing into the ashtray
you’re taking your life away 

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