Smoking Sky

Does it come from the Moon? does it come from the Stars?
does it come from the longing deep in my heart?
As I'm think of you under smoking sky
and striking a minor chord upon the polished keys
I am looking up toward the crystal chandelier in the haze

I am letting out a world weary sighing of the soul
as the champagne flutes at table four begin to roll
the frost on the glass tells a tale of the cold
while the stories of smoke are whispered and told

I am shaking and smoking a cigarette down to the ash
I am watching the shadows across the wood crash
I am finding the note as the smoke starts…