Cigarette Machine

Dry heave doubt
From a little old dragon's mouth
Split lip and split tongue
Finally, cross-eyed

She stands next to the cigarette machine
"This device has got it made," she thinks
It has a cast-iron stomach
But a candle for a heart

Odd, the way the very stuff falls out
Hard, the way it makes you doubt
This thing leaps up, complains, full of vile
Not even star-crossed, just unlucky

Odd how the very stuff falls out
Hard, the way it makes you smile
This thing leaps up, complains
Not even star-crossed, just unlucky