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