As Jackie leans against the *****
beside the grave that's he's just dug
he digs up another 'makings'
and with bony hands still shaking
as if his very life depended
on the Virginia flake expended
into his heaving fragile lungs,
He starts to cough
he starts to heave
he doesn't have time to believe
that it's self harm
that he's doing.

As the spasms calm
he takes another pull
and when his lungs are full
he quite deliberately
exhales the smoke,
discounts the words I spoke
about the damage done
and rolls another one.

But in the swirlings of the nicotine in a scene
from some rocky horror show
his lungs forget to **** and blow
and his poor old heart
just seems to know
it's time to stop and
go.

Someone else leans on a *****
surveys the lovely job he's made
of his predecessors grave
and thanks his God he got the job
and that Jackie Bleasedale
smoked.