ASHES TO ASHES

by DAMO!
(Dublin)

It got to the stage where I was sick and tired of smoking
The constant coughing, I always seemed to be choking
the way my clothes, my hair, the car and house did smell,
and the fact that smokers were treated like lepers as well

Non smokers frowned and scorned, some were quite abrupt
Forgetting that without tax on fags the country would be bankrupt
I could not smoke in the pub, my house or workplace
Did I not have any rights? It was an absolute disgrace!

Yes us smokers were shunned, no longer welcome in the fold
We knew it was unhealthy, no need to be constantly told
But one group in particular, with which every smoker is cursed
are the pompous ex smokers, who are the absolute worst

I started smoking the odd fag at fourteen years of age
But was smoking over forty a day at one stage
Which I knew was ridiculous and extremely unhealthy
If I had saved my fag money I would be incredibly wealthy

I had tried the inhalers, the pills and hypnotherapy
Reading Alan Carr twice did not do it for me
I had tried gum and patches, the electric cigarette
But none of these things had worked for me yet

And when nothing worked, out of sheer desperation
I joined a support group for smoking cessation
But found it quite maddening, the whole thing was a joke
because after each meeting all I really wanted was a smoke

Having tried before, I knew quitting was full of danger
As I completely change, to my friends I’m a stranger
Because normally where I am soft spoken and quite placid
When I try to quit I am volatile, with a tongue like acid.

But this was it! The time had come to quit
I know I had said it before but this time I meant it
Because lately I had been coming over all funny
And I was really fed up having no money

I had got it all worked out in my head
to finish my last box before I went to bed
the following morning I would not even have one
I knew I could do it, I just needed to cop on

But after just three hours I was yearning for a fag
I would have given everything I had just for one drag
I had bitten my nails right down to the quick
I knew if I did not have a fag I was going to be sick

I roared and screamed at my mother, slammed down the phone
Told my wife and kids to f..k off and leave me alone
Sweet Jesus I was sicker than I had ever been
My body was screaming out for some nicotine

I knew a Major or Rothmans, or a John Player would do
It was so bad I would have even settled for a Silk Cut Blue
And when the headaches started, I thought I was going to die
I thought why in God’s name do I even try?

I searched through the house, in some kind of desperate fit
The place looked like a bomb had hit it
But no fags to be found, I was in pure agony
Convinced all the fresh air was actually killing me

I thought it was over, was convinced I was dead
But then I found a butt down in the shed
I took an extra long drag, making sure to inhale
And vowed never to repeat this sorry tale.

It was not long until I was back to smoking over forty a day
got emphysema at fifty, passed slowly and painfully away
what gives me some comfort as a smoker, who was given no peace
Is knowing my ashes now rest peacefully, in an urn on the mantelpiece.


© Damian Murphy DAMO! 2013