I am a cigarette rolling on the ground, I am burnt but not yet burned out.
I am someone's bad habit, something they try to break.
Their mothers say I'm bad for them, I'm a rule hard to make.
I'm a house on a hill, lonely and small,
I am useful but not quite helpful at all.
You see me and yearn, for the habit you once broke.
Because I am a cigarette and my fire has awoke.
