Hotel hobbies padding dawns 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 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 ------------------------------------------------|D -------------------------------------------------------|Bm ------------------------------|C5 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