Hotel hobbies padding dawns hollow corridors

Dm

Bell boys checking out the hookers in the bar

Slug-like fingers trace the star-spangled clouds of cocaine on the mirror

Dm Dm

The short straw takes its bow

The tell tale sign of the last cigarette marking time in the pockets as the

whisky sweat lies like discarded armour on an unmade bed

And a familiar craving is crawling through his head

And the only sign of life is the ticking of the pen

Introducing characters to memories like old friends

Frantic as a cardiograph scratching out the lines

In a fever of confession a catalogue of crime in happy hour

Do you cry in happy hour, do you hide in happy hour, a pilgrimage to happy hour

New shadows tugging at the corner of his eye

Jostling for attention as the sunlight flares

Through a curtains tear, shuffling its beams

C5 Bm7

As if in nervous anticipation of another day