segunda-feira, outubro 01, 2007

Clutching at Straws

HOTEL HOBBIES

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 as the sunlight flares
Through a curtains tear, shuffling its beams
As if in nervous anticipation of another day

WARM WET CIRCLES

On promenades where drunks propose to lonely arcade mannequins
Where ceremonies pause at the jeweler's shop display
Feigning casual silence in strained romantic interludes
Till they commit themselves to the muted journey home

And the pool player rests on another cue
Last nights hero picking up his dues
A honeymoon gambled on a ricochet
She's staring at the brochures at the holidays

Chalking up a name in your hometown
Standing all your mates to another round
Laughing at the world till the barman wipes away the warm wet circles
The warm wet circles

I saw teenage girls like gaudy moths A classroom's shabby butterflies
Flirt in the glow of stranded telephone boxes
Planning white lace weddings from smeared hearts and token proclamations
Rolled from stolen lipsticks across the razored webs of glass
Sharing cigarettes with experience with her giggling jealous confidantes
She faithfully traces his name with quick bitten fingernails
Through the tears of condensation that'll cry through the night
As the glancing headlights of the last bus kiss adolescence goodbye
In a warm wet circle

Like a mothers kiss on your first broken heart, a warm wet circle
Like a bullet hole in Central Park, a warm wet circle
And I'll always surrender to the warm wet circles

She nervously undressed in the dancing beams of the Fidra lighthouse
Giving it all away before it's too late
She'll let a lovers tongue move in a warm wet circle
Giving it all away and showing no shame
She'll take a mother's kiss on her first broken heart a warm wet circle
She'll realise that she played her part in a warm wet circle

It was a wedding ring
Destined to be found in a cheap hotel
Lost in a kitchen sink or thrown in a wishing well

THE SHORT STRAW

At that time of the night
When streetlights throw crosses through window frames
Paranoia roams where the shadows reign
Oh, at that time of the night
At that time of the night
Your senses tangled in some new perfume
Criticism triggers of a loaded room
Oh, at that time of the night

So if you ask me How do I feel inside
I could honestly tell you
We've been taken on a very long ride
And if my owners let me have some free time some day
With all good intention I would probably run away
Clutching the short straw
At that time of the night
When questions rally in an open mind
Summon all your answers with an ice cubes chime
At that time of the night
Pretend you're off the hook with the telephone
Your confidence wounded in a free fire zone
Oh, at that time of the night

So if you ask me Where do I go from here
My next destination even isn't really that clear
So if you join me and get on your knees and prey
I'll show you salvation
We'll take the alternative way
Clutching the short straw

If I had enough money
I'd buy a round for that boy over there
A companion in my madness in the mirror the one with the silvery hair
And if some kind soul could please pick up my tab
And while they're at it if they could pick up my broken heart.

Warm wet circles

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