Memories rise and fall
like waves of neon on the wall,
flashing a welcome sign.
All the faces you can't recall;
the first, the last, the curtain call,
just suits standing in a line.
It's just your soul you sell
at the Destiny Hotel.
Working girls and lonesome guys
stalk around like cold war spies,
fearful to be seen.
Greedy pimps and jealous wives
searching all the joints and dives,
hope to intervene.
Eyes see, but lips don't tell
at the Destiny Hotel.
Money counts and eyes avert,
socks and pants and pleated skirt
fall upon the floor.
Screams of passion hide the hurt,
cry out love and feel like dirt,
stained forever more.
John rings the counter bell
at the Destiny Hotel.
Car doors slam day and night,
teeth that nibble and words that bite
leave marks you dare not show.
The private passions, the public slight,
the fat cop reading you your rights
as if you didn't know.
Locked in your private hell
at the Destiny Hotel.
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