[Verse 1]
Hotel hobbies padding dawn's 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

[Verse 2]
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

[Verse 3]
New shadows tugging at the corner of his eye
Jostling for attention
When the sunlight flares
Through a curtain's tear
Shuffling its beams as if in nervous anticipation
Of another day