You live on my breath,
don’t you, you little
bits of ash fall on my lap
and I dunno if you’re mocking me
or anticipating another ignition.
Because when alcohol’s in play,
you crave me most
and, christ, I’ve been drinkin’.
Though I want to tell you to
go away, I don’t care for you, just – fuck off…
you take my breath away
and make me crave you
at the most inappropriate times.
But when I spark the match
and see you latch
to its licking flame,
you only care about dying anyway.