.Hottrockin

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It's guess the artist time, once again. Please see "He knows, You Know" for the rules. ~Hotel hobbies padding dawns hollow corridors A typewriter cackles out a stream of memories. Drying out a conscience, evicting a nightmare Opening the doors for the dreams to come home. We live out lives in private shells Ignore our senses and fool ourselves. To thinking that out there theres someone else cares Someone to answer all our prayers, all our prayers... Are we too far gone, are we so irresponsible Have we lost our balls, or do we just not care. Were terminal cases that keep talking medicine Pretending the end isnt quite that near. We make futile gestures, act to the cameras With our made up faces and pr smiles. And when the angel comes down, down to deliver us Well find out that after all, were only men of straw. But everything is still the same Passing the time passing the blame. We carry on in the same old way Well find out we left it too late one day to say what we meant to say. Just when you thought it was safe to go back to the water, Those problems seem to arise the ones you never really thought of. The feeling you get is similar to something like drowning Out of your mind, youre out of your depth, you should have taken soundings. Clutching at straws, were clutching at straws, were clutching at straws... And if you ever come across us dont give us your sympathy You can buy us a drink and just shake our hands. And youll recognise by the reflection in our eyes that deep down inside were all one and the same Were clutching at straws Were still drowning Clutching at straws Were still drowning, yeah clutching at straws Im still drowning Were clutching at straws Im still drowning~ FISH 8~D