Do you remember that nasty spell
The one that came right up from hell
I'm sure you remember it only too well
The one where whenever you heard the bell
You had to go to the shops which sell
Those lovely things called cigarettes
But then came the day when you broke free
Oh, it was wonderful to have such liberty
You could live your life without paying the fee
For awful things which smelt like gone off brie
You could answer the phone quite happily
Without having to drag on a cigarette
So please remember the bad with the good
It's very important that you should
Don't cover them up with a great big hood
It's a curse, don't forget, as if you would
It'll take you under, if only it could
But you won't succumb to the cigarette
(Sydney, Australia - 2003)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I never broke free, and would never try. Liberty is evil, paying for my death keeps me happy indeed. I love my cigarettes, they give me an excuse not to pick up the phone. Deep, long drags. Each puff held in as long as possible. It's no curse, but a blessing you see, I won't succumb, but I refuse to be free, even if you don't wish to hear me, being a smoker is better than to be free!