| When you were alone in the hotel
|
| Who were you?
|
| The frost on the grass has melted
|
| Dark Shadows over the wall
|
| Not like it says in the papers
|
| Not like you told them at all
|
| Safe in the comfort of frailty
|
| She sits in the station hall
|
| headlines of her disappearance
|
| She walks with her eyes to the floor
|
| And as the train
|
| It puffs some spits
|
| She writes her name
|
| On everybody’s lips
|
| 12 hours later they found it
|
| windscreen smashed by the road
|
| no indication of motif
|
| no message not even a note
|
| And at the opposit end of the country
|
| She sits on a hotel bed
|
| Staring at the face in the mirror
|
| Is it hers or another’s instead
|
| Tea time swing band plays in the lounge
|
| Aspidistras waiters and frowns
|
| A private table, sit on your own
|
| A man on the corner talks on the phone
|
| And phones the cops
|
| They stare and slip
|
| She writes her name
|
| on everybody’s lips
|
| Along with the view of the garden
|
| A gate with a path to the sea
|
| the last of the ripple of laughter
|
| As the band leaves after the sea
|
| Police running over the grassland
|
| foot falls loud in the hall
|
| Boots hard on the stair carpet
|
| Cloud shadows over the wall
|
| And as the tap
|
| It drips and drips
|
| She writes her name
|
| on everybody’s lips
|
| And from the cups
|
| they stare and sip
|
| She writes her name
|
| on everybody’s lips
|
| And as the train
|
| It puffs and spits
|
| She writes her name
|
| on everybody’s lips |