On the escape from Paddington station
Up the slope to Praed Street
I enter the daily wall of smoke
Rushing into my lungs
Choking a little life out of me
I emerge the other side
And run for my bus
Approaching the office, dragging my feet
The smart revolving doors
Lined by little puffs of smoke
Strategy defined on fag packets
Secret discussions I'll never know
My expensive perfume replaced with a new one
As I enter the lift
It's safe in the pub, if a little chilly
The air is clear, despite the odour of stale beer
But it's warm outside, where the smokers sit
And I'm jealous of their fun
I watch them laughing, sunglasses on
But I think I'll stay in here
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