smoking cigarettes makes me feel like Frank Sinatra

here we sing the praises of an early death
gone but not forgotten, forgotten but not gone
we climb to new highs, to reach the inevitable low
and at that low is where we test our strength.

here we sing the praises of rotting meat
dead and rotten, rotten and dead
we reach for the sky
but to no avail

i watched the sun rise and fall
i watched the building burn
i watched as you reached for help
and i laughed