• starts with a drop
    that echoes the land
    then all the fumes begin to band

    allowing the match to be lit
    as all the pieces begin to fit

    the fire starts rising to bring hope
    as it smelts the pipe with the dope

    the smoke fills the empty heart
    as it tears many others apart

    the filth of the match is not scorn
    but burden of the pains will be worn

    to wrap us up in its smoke
    and one by one give us strokes