قارئة الفنجان

وماحدٍ بعدك

The song capture the quiet rebellion of being alive — of keeping a spark lit when the world grows dim. It speaks to the defiance found in imperfection, the strength hidden in our small rituals of survival. Life’s beauty isn’t in its purity, but in the courage to keep dancing through smoke and ruin. Even as everything fades, we hold our own rhythm — unbroken, unashamed, unafraid. In the end, it’s the act of choosing to live, again and again, that becomes unapologetically its own kind of grace.

Red lights drip on tattered walls,
Time forgets when midnight falls.
Smoke curls soft through broken bars,
Faith burns low beneath the scars.

There’s peace where sirens sleep,
Where promises cut dark and deep.
The world outside feels cold and far,
I sway alone beneath the stars.

Morphine and Cigars — Hallelujah scars!
Saints in smoke, sinners in jars.
Raise your glass to final choir,
Let smoke strike and strings catch fire.
Amen! Amen! Hallelujah!

The crowd leans close, the lights grow dim,
My pulse keeps time with ghost and hymn.
Shadow dancers blur the seams,
Lost in smoke and dying dreams.

The trumpet sighs in shades of blue,
Confessing sins it never knew.
Salvation’s cheap, redemption’s far,
I drink what mercy’s left in jar.

Morphine and Cigars — Hallelujah scars!
Spin the moon on old guitars.
Angels drunk in shadowed bars,
Sing my name through open scars.
Amen! Amen! Hallelujah!

I kissed the edge of mercy’s blade,
Found love in broken lights that strayed.
The sins I’ve worn still bear their mark,
Yet I drink to warm the dark.

Morphine and Cigars — My holy scars,
Crown me now beneath these clouds
If death should dance, I’ll lead the tune—
A smoked scotch beneath the moon.
Amen! Hallelujah! Morphine and Cigars!

So let the raven guard my flame,
Let death wait, I'll call her name. 
While smoke remains and lungs can crave
I keep the key to my own grave.

"أحبك لا شأن لي باختياري"

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