Memory Motel - Seventh Floorin the sorrow of the night, in the violence of a summer dream, in the chill of a wintery light, in the bitter dance of loneliness exploding into space in the broken mirror of innocence on each forgotten face, I hear the aging footsteps like the motion of the sea, sometimes I turn, there's someone there, other times, it's only me, I am hanging in the balance of a perfect finished plan, like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand.
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Be sure to wear
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God bless the boyswho make the noise on 16th Avenue, Nashville, circa 1992 |
Imagine Go to the eighth floor of the Memory Motel
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