It’s calling you to cobblestone
Your veins turn taut
To dry—
“You were the only thing,” you said,
“To stay so bloody white.”
And, love,
You’re walking cracking streets tonight
Like there’s a line to find—
And the walls have peeling paper
In our room
From time to time.
But there’s no love in that hotel
No, there’s no love in that hotel
If I’ve one secret left to sell
Love—
There’s no love in that hotel.
“
| — | “London Grand” - S. Howson (May ‘12) |
