Forty-five years I filled my glass,
Then lit a cigarette…
I sank into a private place,
That I’m still missing yet.
Few men know the beauty,
Or the sound a struck flint makes,
The spark, the deep inhale,
With a side of Hostess Cakes.
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Is it alcohol you're missing, that took you to that private place? Me too. How to get there without alcohol?
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