Blowing on the embers of my very last December
Dripping with sarcasm, I run through the night

I can't get rested in this empty pit of a town
I feel I've always been in the cramped up space

I can't see the path of bliss through my ignorance
It burns and tears my hands and my feet

I find comfort in the elders' wisdom
and calmly sip the last of my tea

It's imported from China