Cigarette Machine

Dry heave doubt from a little old dragon's mouth

Split lip and split tongue, finally cross-eyed

She stands next to the cigarette machine

This device has got it made, she thinks

It has a cast-iron stomach but a candle for a heart

Odd the way the very stuff falls out

Hard the way it makes you doubt

This thing leaps up, complains, full of vile

Not even star-crossed, just unlucky

Odd the way the very stuff falls out

Hard the way it makes you smile

This thing leaps up, complains

Not even star-crossed, just unlucky