Loose Cigarettes

Black lung Black life The black hole stuck inside my half-black, heavy heart As if these stupid words might play some part In status quos, in sleeper holds In middle passage or tobacco roads Just like four-hundred years of loaded guns Might somehow be undone By singing songs like they were bricks When we're, we're trading lives for loose cigarettes And blackened eyes, and blackened lungs And free TVs, and capsicum clouds And if there is a god, well, she don't care at all If we, we sing the songs We throw the bricks We're trying to breathe but we're choking on words like pig And I'm just trying, I'm trying to breathe again It changes nothing but I... I guess I need to pretend And I'm just trying, I'm trying to breathe again It changes nothing but sometimes it helps to pretend