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The smoke clouded their faces

It was the kind of smoke that dances

Out of cigarettes and eyes

And music that cries


They were together and singing

Their voices slow and cringing

Hiding beneath the skirts of smoke

Which, with truth, it spoke


The mystery of our race

The misery of our place

Concealing the obscene

Of desire rising between


The lover and her clock

The earth and its rock

But it seeps away loudly

Screaming reality proudly


Behind the smoke, a family of one

Quivers underneath the cruel sun

Of truth and virtue, setting

On their dead hearts, sweating


Hiding beneath the skirts of smoke.