Vices

My lighter, how it sings!
Churning and burning and lighting things
Killing and thrilling my bastard lung
Staining and draining my numb, dumb tongue

But never have I heard a razor's call
To each their own beckoning fall
To each their own killing thing
The same lame song do each thing sing

By flame, a slow death
By liquor, a bit quicker

Each does it's own on my damned old ticker
I learn with ill spent time, blood runs thicker
Remember, days gone by with years to burn
I'm an old man with nothing left to yearn