歌词
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 took 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
And a familiar craving is crawling in 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
A fever of confession a catalogue of crime in happy hour
Do you cry in happy hour?
Do you hide in happy hour?
The pilgrimage to happy hour
♪
New shadows tugging at the corner of his eye
Jostling for attention
When the sunlight flares
Through a curtains tear
Shuffling its beams as if in nervous anticipation
Of another day