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Those Sticks

I take that stik up to my lips
A mixture of paper and tobacco and cotton
Flick that fire, oh so quickly
Inhale my early death
Into my lungs
Blow it out
Into that cool unfresh air
All the way down to that cotton now filled with tar
Living so quickly, dying so slow
The white with the fire on the end
Throw out my happiness
Flick it from my hands

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