The smoke infiltrates my lungs,
Stealing all of the air I had,
Using me as means to breathe,
Mother nature's thief who's holding a grudge.

Those who hate me,
All reside in this town,
I see their flags everywhere,
And I see every way I could die.

I'll write a formal letter,
To the smoke and hope to the Gods,
That it'll carry me far, far, far away.

Through alleyways and empty malls,
I'm not lost, you're all just losing your minds,
I'm strangled by denial and a yearning to be free,
That's all I would wish for if I saw a shooting star,
Except all this smoke screens me from the stars,
And the meteors that fly through.

I'll write a formal letter,
To the smoke and hope to the Gods,
That it'll carry me far, far, far away.

This city,
Is a prison,
Alcatraz island,
As a town,
For all the richest,
The *******, and the bigots,
To move in,
And tear down,
What we just began to build.