The pangs of hunger torture my body,
And the pains of love torture my mind.
I can relieve the hunger, but I won't;
It serves as an illusion
To steal my thoughts
From self-pity.
My pipe is filled with hashish,
In case I forget to forget.
So, you see,
Besides the obvious mental defenses,
I have enough escapes to drive away
Those faint whispers enticing unto death.
It's not just this one time
I played and lost
That disintegrates my will;
But all the games
I must face tomorrow
Knowing the rules don't permit winners,
But demand participation.
Now where did I put that pipe?
Still smokin' dope in 2020; still chasin' away the blues; best medicine I have found yet; it's legal now, still hashish when I can find it, bubble hash now, easier to make than collecting it in the fields.
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