Wasted cigarettes hardly ash before   There's something else to burn  It's done, you're already moving on  And the drunkard seeks scape  Through the faded tint of empty bottles  Leave no room to discover    That it's always been in front of him,   But he's never recognized  That the more he runs, the more he's left behind  Because horoscopes and shrunken heads  Can't be without the numb  Keep it burning    For every hooker, there's a nun  For every welcome, there's a shun  It makes no sense to search forever  When only so much can be done  Nothing is fair when nothing's sufficient  Continued mistakes to turn and neglect    And the moment dies, and everybody cries  For what could never be achieved  But the broken hearts appear to be relieved    And even if you're strictly sober  You never take the glance  Your haste can't make tomorrow sooner  Your faded will can't pave the way at all  Kicking off what's nipping at your heels  Through it could support your feet    And now, self-inflicted suffocation, poorly judged contemplation  What's beyond this boring town, and what beauty laid within  All those alcoholic routines, and all the faded friends and jobs?   They have made you who you are  You can't forget the roots from which you claim to be growing    Burning cigarettes hardly give that sweet tobacco taste  The time has come to recover    Keep it burning  Self-inflicted suffocation, poorly judged contemplation  Keep it burning