Husk

Empty as ever, I sit and smile, and suddenly the room doesn't look as strange

The haphazard pile of hundred-dollar sheets seems to rise from the dark corners of a dream

My muscles are aching, it hurts to move; I'm afraid to touch anything anyway,

Because the carpet's too soft, the walls are too clean,

And the windows and mirrors are asking me why I'm here

I don't have the answers; a better man would say that I'm too old

But I don't think myself much of a man these days.

The morning silver like it's always been as she breathes me a waltz slow and haunting

And at this time I awoke in tears for something too faint to identify

The world slowly dies, and she's oblivious, as I was as early as an hour ago