The man who puts back

I am the man who unmixes drinks.
I put the smoke back into cigarettes, and light back into the stars.
I put the blood back into the wound, and the scream back into your lips.
The tick and the tock go back in the clock.
Turn back, turn back.
The teardrop rolls slowly up, drying your cheek, as it goes back into your eye.
The knife in my hand, in my pocket.
Step back, step back.
That smile again, I wish it could last forever.
So, I mix another drink, light the cigarette,
and we move forward in time again.