Fish
Hotel Hobbies
Hotel hobbies padding dawns hollow corridorsBell boys checking out the hookers in the barSlug-like fingers trace the star-spangled clouds of cocaine on the mirrorThe short straw took its bowThe tell tale tocking of the last cigaretteMarking time in the packet as the whiskey sweatLies like discarded armor on an unmade bedAnd a familiar craving is crawling in his headAnd the only sign of life is the ticking of the penIntroducing characters to memories like old friendsFrantic as a cardiograph scratching out the linesA fever of confession a catalog of crime in happy hourDo you cry in happy hour, do you hide in happy hour,The pilgrimage to happy hourNew shadows tugging at the corner of his eyeJostling for attention as the sunlight flaresThrough a curtains tear, shuffling its beamsAs if in nervous anticipation of another day
From Letras Mania