The King

He's the King of the smoking room,
They come and go like flies,
Quick puff then back to their lives.

He's the only constant,
in an ever changing world.
while people go about like night traffic,
in the movies.

He has his favourite seat,
rolls his own nice and neat,
Huddles by the fire for the heat,
His home an empty shell,
Here, it feels complete.

The Barman, feels like family,
asks for news,
so politely.
Another day drinking,
deaden the head,
to stop any feeling.
The booze needs nicotine,
like a marriage of drugs,
so he creates the scene.