Hotel Hobbies

Hotel hobbies padding dawn's hollow corridors
Bell boys checking out the hookers in the bar
Slug-like fingers trace the star-spangled clouds
Of cocaine on the mirror
The short straw takes its bow

The tell-tale tocking of the last cigarette
Marking time in the packet as the whisky sweat
Lies like discarded armour on an unmade bed
Familiar cravings are crawling in his head

And the only sign of life is the ticking of the pen
Introducing characters to memory like old friends
Frantic as a cardiograph scratching out the lines
This fever of confession
This catalogue of crime
In happy hour
Do you hide in happy hour
Do you cry in happy hour
This pilgrimage to happy hour

Daka-daka-daka

New shadows
Tugging at the corner of his eye
Jostling for attention
As the sunlight flares
Through a curtains tear
Shuffling its beams
As if in nervous anticipation
Of another day