I admit I may be addicted, because I always think I need a smoke And if you really think of it, this may mean my mind has gotten broke But what's the point in fixing it, another problem will just take its place Although I guess the real truth would be that I could not possibly face
A day without a cigarette, I could fear nothing more The logic that I explained to you was just a desperate implore Because if it was a leg of mine that happened to break quite sharply I'd want it to be fixed right now and fixed up rather smartly
I wouldn't want to leave it broke in case my arm got broken too I'd want it set correctly, so that every bone and sinew Would grow healthy and strong, the way it was before But my very important mind which is my very core
Let it fester and weep, confused beyond recognition Send it on the road which we call perdition It's really not worth fixing, it's only my mind Just leave me to my frenzy, if you would be so kind