The Last Straw

Hotel hobbies padding dawns hollow corridors A typewriter cackles out a stream of memories Drying out a conscience, evicting a nightmare Opening the doors for the dreams to come home We live out lives in private shells Ignore out senses and fool ourselves Into thinking that out there there's someone else cares Someone to answer all our prayers Are we too far gone, are we so irresponsible Have we lost our balls, or do we just not care We're terminal cases that keep talking medicine Pretending the end isn't quite that near We make futile gestures, act to the cameras With our made up faces and PR smiles And when the angel comes down to deliver us We'll find out after all, we're only men of straw