the bellhop and the scoundrel

too little
too late
flowers and cards
from the well-wishers
they wish you well
in a dying dream
the kind that haunts
this place
the halls, they sing
your praises
reverberate off the walls
this bed remains unoccupied
your tired-eyes survey
your surroundings
in a dying a dream
a fabled reconstruction
of your own invention
you never were the kind of soul
i could touch
you never were the kind of soul
they made you this
in their image
in their eyes
they made you this
an empty mind
a swarm of flies
a lack of time
they made you this
in their eyes
oh, you pick and choose
turn it over
in your mind
your bed remains unoccupied
and your head
so full of lies

all i want is a little time
to sort things out
all i need is a little time
to work it out