I don't resent at all the money on fags which I spend
I'm more than happy to keep smoking until the bitter end
It doesn't bother me at all that my lungs are being clogged
The reason I don't worry may be that I'm in rather a fog
Because if I saw things in a manner untwisted
Through clear sighted glasses that were completely unmisted
I'd realise most vividly that I was being taken for a ride
A ride that was always ever on a downwardly slide
Not to resent spending money to inhale noxious fumes
Is not a good thing at all, it spells out d-o-o-m doom
I should feel very resentful, infact hopping mad
The fact that I don't is really quite sad
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It's not sad, it's inspirational.