These lungs are stones lying heavy in my chest
Breathing in the nicotine toys you smoke so slyly from your chapped lips
While under your arm in the church parking lot
You pray to who you call God
As the skeletons fall from your cigarette
Begging that we stay bound until the hour's death

  Is it the scars you hide under your stubble that attracts me to your sin?
  Or the ghosts in your pores that smell of tobacco and mint?
They loved you so much, am I one of them now?
You could have done better but I'm afraid that I can't
     You're the only type I believe keeps my sane
     You're the only type that breaks my brittle brain
How many more cracks do I dare sustain?

  But all of you leave scars under my stubble
  And the ghosts in my pores smell like tobacco and mint
I'm three packs in and I'm more alone than ever
Maybe tomorrow will bring a better "forever."