Husk

Empty as ever, I sit and smile, and suddenly the room doesn't look as strange The haphazard pile of hundred-dollar sheets seems to rise from the dark corners of a dream My muscles are aching, it hurts to move; I'm afraid to touch anything anyway, Because the carpet's too soft, the walls are too clean, And the windows and mirrors are asking me why I'm here I don't have the answers; a better man would say that I'm too old But I don't think myself much of a man these days. The morning silver like it's always been as she breathes me a waltz slow and haunting And at this time I awoke in tears for something too faint to identify The world slowly dies, and she's oblivious, as I was as early as an hour ago And last night's excesses made a joke of the fact that we use every morning to pay for today. I don't have the answers; a better man would say that I'm too young, But I don't think myself much of a man these days. I was a seeker once upon a time, ablaze with the pain that comes from loving love, But now I'm the dying embers swept away, as the glow dances one last time across the room The bed is a mess, she doesn't seem to mind; I think it was she that destroyed it anyway. I wish she would wake and make something alive in this pulseless, expensive excuse for a room. I don't have the answers; a better man would say that I'm too old But I don't think myself much of a man anymore.