Mary's wiping ashes from her clothes
Blackened matches strewn across the floor
The smoke rose slowly and was pushed out by the vent

The guiding light was just the tip of her cigarette
She smokes in bed.


Mary doesn't care about herself
So what chance is there for anybody else?
Sometimes I wonder about the heartache that lies ahead

Any day now she'll set fire to her head
She smokes in bed.


Nervous neighbors peeping through her blinds
Piercing sirens cutting through the night
Molten rubble settling to rest

They searched for hours, there wasn't anybody left
She smoked in bed.