Your deathly witch voice turns me on,/
Conversing through the speakers in tongues/
As I crawl from the coffee to the cigarettes./
Smoke haven is a safer place/
Than the grey real world bleached just past the window./
Travel from the Chelsea to the grave/
Pay no toll, saint, pay no toll./
All the muses stare at the empty page/
Nothing to smudge, left hand is still./
Crawl down to the bar to fall down./
Hank Williams plays softly/
All the answers in three crackled minutes./
Time at the bar/
As my corpse quits, in a cheap suit.
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