The Last Straw

(Fish, Steve Rothery, Mark Kelly, Pete Trewavas, Ian Mosley) Hotel hobbies padding dawn's 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 our lives in private shells Ignore our senses and fool ourselves To thinking that out there that someone else cares Someone to answer all our prayers, 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 our PR smiles And when the angel comes down, down to deliver us We'll find out that after all, we're only men of straw But everything is still the same