Another cigarette i smoke,
another waste of my time i hear,
What a bloke,
He is not even real,
He finishes his last meal.

I stand up and walk away,
There is one of them again,
He opens his mouth and sputes acid rain,
He has nothing to say, he is a lifeless drain.

Again the bottle opens,
horizons shiver.
The stimulants cool me down,
Slowly fixing my tired frown.
I need a cleaver,
To cut out my fever.
.
.
This room is a psychic vampire.