In a haze of smoke, they stand,
Men with hearts that burn and hands,
Grasping tightly to their vice,
Benson and Hedges, their own paradise.
From ember's glow to billows grand,
They seek solace in this land,
Where fragrant tendrils twist and twine,
Weaving tales of moments divine.
With each inhale, a sense of calm,
They wander through the smoky realm,
Thoughts meandering, lost in the mist,
Wrapped in memories they can't resist.
A puff of dreams, a gentle sigh,
They ponder life as time goes by,
Through whispered tendrils, secrets unfold,
Stories of passion, tales untold.
But hidden behind the smoky veil,
Lurk the shadows of a fateful tale,
For men who smoke, with every drag,
Embrace a dance with fate's cruel snag.
Yet still, they linger, heedless and bold,
Drawn to the lure of shimmering gold,
In the haze, they find their release,
Men who smoke, seeking inner peace.
Though wisps of smoke may cloud their sight,
Within their souls, a burning light,
Men who smoke, both brave and flawed,
Searching for truth, on paths untrod.
So let us glimpse their intricate dance,
With Benson and Hedges as their chance,
In smoky realms, they find their way,
Men who smoke, in shades of grey.
