Cigarette smoke rises slowly
Caught in sunlight, dusty air
In the backroom of the tavern
Strangers eyes to stare.
Forming circles in their journey
To the ceiling nicotined stained
While the music slides so easy
Thoughts of whose to blame.
For years which passed quickly
Dreams that died in vain
Chances never taken
Life remains the same.
Landlady enters briskly
To close curtains on another day
The eyes return to deeper thoughts
No one has anything to say.