I sat smoking a cigarette one day
on a bench inside the local park,
and some old, holier-than-thou type
came up to me, spouting some
nonsense about how "Those could ****
you, you know."
And I replied, concisely,
"Oh, I know."
"But," I continued,
"so do cars and guns
and terrible puns. So does
every poke, cut and scrape;
every bone you break;
every breath you take
and glass you drink;
every single thing you think;
every time you blink;
every scratch
and ray of sunlight you catch;
every pill you're swallowin'
and moment of sorrow you wallow in;
every religion you could be followin';
every word you speak
and meal you eat--
even walking on your own two feet.
So do hopes and votes,
popes and sore throats,
rhetoric and prose.
Everything kills, my friend,
though we only see it at the end--
and by then it's been too long
and we can no longer sing songs
of our discoveries and reveries,
and treasuries and pleasure-ies,
and best friends forever-ies.
The way I see it,
ain't no reason livin' if'n I'm givin'
two ***** 'bout all that;
I've already tossed in my hat."