Bourbon, Smoke, and the Cost

Yeah. Walk through the fire every single morning. Test it.

Leather seats, Cognac bottle sitting empty on the dash. Cuba leaves rolled

tight, watching everything I built turn to ash. Question if the

elevation really made me lose my ground. Check my reflection in the crystal,

wonder who I found. They told me success would taste sweet as this

bourbon, but the price tag attached got my stomach turning. Every handshake got

a motive underneath. Every cigar circle full of brothers I can't read. I remember when

the corner store beer was celebration. Now I'm picking vintage years, different conversation.