Maybe we\'re just puffs of smoke
Fluid and shapeless as campfire shadows
And when from the south encroaches a wind
The calmness of the camp approaches its end
Riding on the way come pockets of rain
The droplets descend from the hurricane
And as one short-lived thing puts out another
Goodbye says the other to its spiritual brother
When the time comes for my hurricane
Will I be the fire or will I be the rain
Or will I be neither and instead become smoke
So before that day comes, that hot/cold end
Into fire I cremate my sins
And I go up
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
I didn\'t choose this, unto me it was thrust
Ashes to ashes, smoke to smoke
During my ascension, on myself I choke