Wearing a street light like a cane,
She brought up her smoke and harshly breathed in,
The hot, humid night continued to pound,
Her high heeled boots into the hard ground.
A boy on his bike slid to a stop,
His shoes were untied and his smile never died,
He said, “Come on, Sis, let’s go out and play,”
“I can’t,” she returns, “I’ve work today,”
He got back on his bike and rolled away,

And the smoke burns her eyes,
She tells herself that’s why she cries.

She took another drag off her cigarette,
Then flicked the ashes into the soft breeze,
When out of the night, footsteps emerged,
Like the metronomic beat to a forgotten dirge.
His hair was unkempt, his stubble was grey,
His face was the model of living decay,
“You’re late again, is everything alright?”
“It’s no big deal, Dad; it’s not even light,”
He then disappeared in the lonely, black night,

And the smoke burns her eyes,
She tells herself that’s why she cries.

She turned her head, and gazed at the concrete,
Towards a mirror-like puddle left from the rain,
Even in the breeze, the surface did not stir,
As an old women stared back up at her.
Her smile was warm, though her lips were cold,
And a kind word her soul did not hold,
“I just pray I can see you in a cap and gown,”
“Then why didn’t you wait?” she asked, looking down,
But all she saw was her own face, with a frown.

And the smoke burns her eyes,
She tells herself that’s why she cries.

She dropped the butt on the dirty ground,
As she felt the sun's heat begin pound,
She wondered, though the smoke left her eyes,
Why she continues to cry.


The chords repeat in the same pattern. I just put the chords together ****ing around with my acoustic while I'm mid typing this, so it's probably not even close to what I intend, but it's close, anyway.
When everybody's gone home, all but the friends and lovers, that's when the best things happen.