THE SOUND of BUTANE

Hello Crackpipe, my old friend
Here I am smoking you again
Feel the smoke in my lungs creeping
Wide awake but feel like I'm sleeping
And I'm beginning to feel like my entire brain
Has been drained
Into the sound of BUTANE

In darkened rooms I smoked alone
Or with people I've never known
Buy my rocks under the burnt out streetlamp
So strung out my skin was cold and damp
Oh my eyes glow when the glass pipe bursts with light
Let's smoke the night
And touch the sound of BUTANE

And in the crackhouse light I saw
A dozen junkies, maybe more
Mouths moving but no one's speaking
Mouths shaking and lighters sparking
Mouths that argue over a rock dropped on the floor
By a filthy whore
Disturb the sound of BUTANE

Junkies said I you do not know
How crack like a river flows
Run like Hell if the sirens chase you
Don't let the Pigs put their cuffs on you
But my words got mixed in with the smoke
And took on the smell of BUTANE

And the junkies bowed and prayed
To the Narcotic god they made
Glowing pipes flash a warning
Into words the junkies were forming
And the pipes read The names of the junkies
Are written on the subway walls
And precinct halls
And whispered in the sounds of BUTANE