by February 2, 2012 0 comments

I go home and I’m all alone
No one to greet me or tell me that they love me
My entire adult life has been like this
I spent all that time flitting from one room to another
And evidently they are all the same
Rented rooms

Acrid surfaces that haven’t been cleaned
Dirty carpets that are plain obscene
A lousy bed that I can’t get out of
An overloaded ashtray that says I haven’t got long
No space to feel at home
In rented rooms

Rented rooms are all the same
Whether you’re in New York, Frisco or even London town
They all seem designed for that lonely insecure man
Who has been driven slowly insane by the idea that he will never escape
A life in rented rooms

editors note:

I think my body is mine, owned outright; but one day the landlord will evict. Might as well let the ashtrays overflow. – mh

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