We headed out west,
The sun on her vest,
Made the cotton alive,
And dance on her chest.

Her jewellery exclaimed,
All of which remained,
The words within her lips,
Had still to be named.

"How good to be free",
She said suddenly,
I refused to pretend,
"It's all Greek to me".

She held her belt tight,
As we drove through night,
With the track of a tear,
Reflecting moonlight.

Embracing the heat,
We stopped in the street,
And approaching a farm,
We slept in the wheat.

There came another reminder, flew in on a jet.
The cursive words on the page said, "You're not finished yet.
You cannot shoot the messenger, don't commit a foul.
Come rest your head,
But please don't throw in the towel".

Putting a finger to his neck he could feel a pulse.
'Til the pills took over him and started to convulse.
His femme fatale discovered him, she began to howl,
"Come rest your head,
But please don't throw in the towel".

In a wasted dreamworld landscape he did lose his mind.
Looking for the forgotten face he was trying to find.
He listened to an ancient monk, hidden by a cowl,
"Come rest your head,
But please don't throw in the towel".

The woman who protected him held him to her breast.
All the signs pointed to the east, but he headed west.
Wandering on in the wet woods when these words did prowl,
"Come rest your head,
But please don't throw in the towel".

The man's body went limp and cold in the woman's arms.
Everyone could see it coming, no need for alarms.
She reminisced of all the times she laughed at his scowl,
"Come rest your head,
But please don't throw in the towel".

When you're troubled and you've spent what you have left.
All your money to that old fortune teller.
And you champion that you're the victim of theft.
Come and touch the jaws of life.

And you claim to have seen the invasion.
But no one would listen to your lectures.
Because you dabbled with grass on occasion.
Come and touch the jaws of life.

Now you sit down to write your debut novel.
The past hardships of your life need reviewed.
You drop down on your knees and start to grovel.
Come and touch the jaws of life.

You think the conflicts in minds needs divorcing.
You don't want to face up to an opponent.
And the transcripts of your words needs enforcing.
Come and touch the jaws of life.

Look around and find someone you can lean on.
But they don't want to live their lives with a fool.
By the time you look up they've all gone.
Come and touch the jaws of life.

A young sous chef is buying flowers,
They put him in a trance.
He'll give them to a lady tonight,
And ask her for a dance.
And the flowers are so colourful,
His face as white as a ghost.
But there is nothing about his life,
That he can find to boast.
Maybe he won't find success tonight,
Stood alone at the wall.
Something tells him he'll go home this time,
A mattress in the hall.

Emily teaches kids poetry,
Doting upon her past.
It's not the first time that she's pondered,
And it won't be her last.
At night she lights the scented candles,
Her dreams just out of reach.
Sometimes it is just too much to take,
Perhaps she'll try some bleach.
She wonders where all her friends have gone,
It makes her feel so small.
This is but one of many nights she's,
A mattress in the hall.

An athlete is training in the gym,
Winning is on his mind.
But contentedness is the one thing,
He feels he cannot find.
He started training his strong body,
To claim a girl he prized.
But just that one woman's rejection,
Cut him down to size.
He looks upon all of his winnings,
His medals make a shawl.
But once again he's feeling like,
A mattress in the hall.

Now Bethany needs a reminder,
To take her Prozac pills.
And start looking for a steady job,
To help her pay the bills.
Unemployed from her time gambling,
Hardships came in a flood.
She is scrounging off her family,
To keep her playing stud.
"Would you hit me one more time my friend?",
She wretches in her drawl.
She sees her reflection in her glass,
A mattress in the hall.

And me? Well I just sit silently,
Trying to find some strength.
To locate happiness in my life,
I'll go to any length.
I write songs that don't have melodies,
I only have the words.
A momentary lapse of reason,
Can save it for the birds.
Every night for several months,
I sleep after a bawl.
Every day for many years I'm,
A mattress in the hall.

Stranded under summer glare,
Standing still with all to bear,
Flaking skin and greasy hair,
Gasping at a hint of air,
They sweat and are well aware,
At times you have to grin and take it.

Satisfaction rarely seen,
At the edge and in between,
Listens to a tambourine,
On a wasteland rarely green,
Coasting on since seventeen,
All you got to do is leave here.

Howling wind begins to blow,
Over above and below,
Looking for things long ago,
Mind is blurred and moves too slow,
All the while their feelings flow,
Into an illusion.

Letting all the bridges burn,
Voices never will return,
Don’t give way to concern,
Love you cannot truly earn,
The past lives that they still yearn,
Are all faded.

Nobody can hear them sing,
About what desire will bring,
Once a child upon a swing,
Growing up to wear a ring,
Dropping from a piece of string,
Is this what it has come to?

Staring silent at a clock,
Waiting for the final knock,
The ship preparing for dock,
Tying rope around a rock,
At the end it will not shock,
Anyone that's really seen it.

All their fears that they can think,
Can be resolved with a drink,
In the morning fix the kink,
A knowing nod and a wink,
Before falling off the brink,
Will only lead to nothing.

Open the next crate of beer,
Will only cause you to steer,
Headfirst into your true fear,
Goodbyes to ones who are dear,
Sensing soon the end is near,
Your vision has been clouded.

Feeling you will never win,
Against the tide you are in,
The devil stares with a grin,
Unfolding your biggest sin,
It's time for the wheel to spin,
Away from all salvation.

Speak to me and then breathe,
But at the end don't leave.
It's safe to say it's natural,
We don't want what we've got.

Rain fogs up the window,
Listen to the wind blow.
To overcome an obstacle,
You can't just simply quit.

Gypsies selling roses,
Children striking poses.
Kindling matchsticks light the fires,
That sit between two logs.

Scholars debate ethics,
Christians play ascetics.
Some are afraid of commitment,
They've got to let off steam.

Stood under an archway,
Preachers preach of doomsday.
Inside their heads an explosion,
They light another joint.

Mothers in the kitchen,
Fathers fail to pitch in.
They say there's safety in numbers,
Tell that to those alone.

City left in ruin,
Rich man's supper brewin'.
Those trying to seek asylum,
Turned away at the gate.

Artists sculpting nature,
Know that it's in danger.
They *** another cigarette,
Then throw it on the ground.