You're taken to an old black car, maybe a Licoln, maybe a Cadilliac
you can completely layout in the back seat
still smoking you watch the street lights pass by
can hear the rain fall on the roof of the car
your life begins to whisper something to you
but you can't make out what it's saying
in the back seat you smile at the dark night
realizing you are someone's cargo
being delivered at 2am through the strange lights of the city
through the million of breaths and heartbeats happening all around
nothing makes sense any more, it never did
whoever wants you is looking to take something back

you spend the rest of the car ride smoking in the back seat
eyes closed
remembering the sound of her laugh