But go more often to the store;
You storm and reason with yourself,
And put your box back on the shelf,
But, in whatever place you are,
Your thoughts are with your shelved cigar.
How weak this proves strong men to be!
Free, yet in hopeless slavery!
The thought is madness to the mind;
We’ll burst these galling chains that bind!
But, ere, my friend, we go too far,