Take the key and twist the lock,
Cross the threshold down into
The Hotel of Hearts.

Look inside the vernacular mini-bar
Sample its delights in pearl strewn luxury
As you lie on a soft bed of nails in
The Hotel of Hearts.

Cover you with diamonds.
Mount you in ebony.
Feed your ego on servings served on
plates of ivory at
The Hotel of Hearts.

Draw the alligator-eyed blind down.
Hide your eyes from the ugly outside world,
The true outside world, kept hidden by the
Hotel of Hearts.

Man so naked under that shirt;
Silk now covering crystal mirrors
Barring their faces from truth and lies
Embracing those who stay at the
Hotel of Hearts.

Pay your bill with a view of your soul.
The clerk smiles petal-soft
Your bags are kept as you leave
The Hotel of Hearts.

Particles of man left behind
Imprints on the looking glass.
We swim with all the memories
In this sea of now.

Shipwrecked on the beach of half-past ten
On our voyage to Tomorrow.
Don't worry dear;
We're already there.

There's a thousand monkey paws
Groping in your hessian skin.
They will only be shaved
When the fruit is eaten.

We're sailors all on this sea of why.
Adrift in the mystery of Now.

I placed your silk
on my pockmarked breast
to cover the lid
of my yesterdays chest.


The way we adorn
horror with statistics
or
villains with crowns.


I wrapped your maddona
around my shore
the trails
of her veil
leaving scars
in the sand.


The boats have left
for invasion
and holocaust,
and I placed your silk
within my tomorrows chest;
and sunk it in her harbour.

Her passions wrote lyrics upon the parchment of her lips,
Under the gaze of the scarlet night.

I could not hold her there and we felt alone; though we were together.
Under the gaze of the scarlet night.

The rose is red and the glaze is soft upon the open eye.
The poet in the attic - surrounded himself with ghosts and dust coated lies-
spins perfumed words in the cold scarlet night. He comes to realise
the mystery of fate in the hour of late advance as he comes to recreate
the masterpiece of failure; oh too late.

A portrait was painted in blood and wine
by the hand of a sullen amateur
Then burnt in the fire of music
In the deep scarlet night.

Her passions wrote her confessions in the ink of truth
Upon the eyelids of beauty, as the cars speed past
to unseen glory, waited upon by cherubs in the
bright sun orange light.

Will you give in to the grazing dawn?
Will you hold me in angel glance at the end of this deep scarlet night?