It's a little cliché, is it not?
But we've all spent a few nights here.
Some of us have spent months,
Whereas others have spent years...
We've all drenched our pillows
With those bitter, endless tears
And we all know how it feels
To have faced our darkest fears.
Abuse, rejection, neglect, what else is there?
Betrayal, desertion, regret, hell it’s warfare!
Some of us lock ourselves away,
Others drop to their knees and pray,
But is there any true and pure solution?
Any perfect way to achieve retribution?
The answer is no, there is not.
We just have to do our time,
Behind the bars of love’s prison cell.
We must accept and persevere, spend
A night or two at Heartbreak Hotel.
To compare you to a summers eve
wouldn't serve the justice,
but when your heart is open
I know your years are numbered.
One after another
they parade in your life
pillaging, stealing, burning
your eternal happiness
I'm worshiping at your alter
and keeping tabs
on your little sadnesses
but you're on your knees beside her.
I only want to see you happy
oh, how comical.
You didn't try
and you don't care.
I see pity in your eyes,
and rage rises,
because I'm not one to be pitied
or made a fool of.
And yet you make me one,
A little girl, it seems,
gawking at an idol.
I won't do this anymore,
I've suffered my damages
paid my fines
and checked out
So bring your guests,
have your parties,
lay your heart out
I wont pick up your pieces.
Because my love,
as much as it hurts,
you're hotel despondent,
and I won't be staying anymore.
I plunge into the cold water on that warm July day
no goggles, only the loose-fitting swimming trunks
I swim through the blur of chlorine
pushing through the water
when a familiar tune I heard hours earlier traps itself in my brain
and I suddenly become weightless, a plane high above in the air
The water is pure blue sky, below me the clouds
And at the bottom the city in ruins
I take my plane and dive down below the clouds
past the blur, until the city is in view just below me
I level the bomber and let it soar low above the ground
Over the pale white shells of buildings
I remember the museum exhibit that inspires this:
I walk through, studying the pictures and the uniforms and the weapons on display
when in the distance of the room beyond I hear the familiar tune:
Brian Eno's "Ascent (An Ending)". It brings me closer, and I move past the exhibits
at a quickening pace, past the slow browsers
glancing only briefly to read, to catch a glimpse of an object, a photo, a map
I keep going, "Ascent" on a loop, its minimal beauty entrancing me
until I find a large television in a small corner.
A few people are gathered around, solemn,
the television entrancing them, the music washing over the room.
First the white words centered against the black screen: "The Bomb".
The come the white-and-black photos and footage of the mushroom clouds hovering above Hiroshima, then Nagasaki,
standing tall like ungainly trees in an empty field.
The soundtrack to the short video before me is "Ascent",
or rather an excerpt, a piece of it, stirring strange emotions
Familiar ones that I give attribution to when I listen to it on my own.
Yet it feels different coming from this;
on the screen a few photographs of corpses and burnt victims flash by.
And then the screen fades to black, a moment of silence
before it all starts again
I hear this loop and see these images before me as I fly above
the imagined city in ruins
And for a brief moment I am the Enola Gay;
I will only know it at the bottom of a hotel pool
I'm writing you this letter, and this is hat I have to say:
All I really wanted was some of your time
Instead you told me lies
When someone else was on your mind
What you do to me
Look what you did to me
I thought that you were someone who would do me right
Until you play with my emotions and you made me cry
What you do to me
Can't take what you did to me
Now I see that you been doing wrong
You played me all along.
And made a fool of me, baby
You got it all wrong to think that I wouldn't find out
That you were cheating on me.
How could you do it to
I remembered our hotel staircase
and was suddenly sick with longing for you.
In my mind you're as beautiful as ever
and your voice still floats like
young spiders' silk threads in the air.
All the midnight city lights only
serve to remind me
of how long it's been since i last
held your hand.
Could I hold your hand again?