The stars float by like ashes From God's cigarette I swear He smokes at least two packs a night He probably has a cough worse than my aunt's She's been smoking since she was seven Or that's what she says I'm sure it's a lie When you want to go inside, tell me It's getting kind of cold and it's a little bit windy Anyway, I'm sure that's why we all die We all choke on God's second-hand smoke