The Motel
I got a sickness pills won’t cure.
I’m now finding out so much more about
What there is to know, and I watch the show
Of memories, they’re just a blur.
My old home doesn’t look the same.
The house on the hill is broken, but still
Pigeons live inside its rafters to hide
From the sounds of a past in flames.
The rotting wood can’t mask the smell.
Look for books and chairs, then go hide upstairs
Where they won’t find me, ‘cause I have the key.
I’m alone, but it’s just as well.
Voices from the old reservoir
Echo past the graves, while the river waves
Beat against the shore that was mine before
I stopped wishing on fucking stars.
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