scraping film away your eyes awake to quite the sight a strobing tv static flares the neon motel light a tray of ash so full a candle burns at both it s ends a stack of empty bottles posing in the corner as your friends this place is a scene and now you believe this place is obscene and you gotta leave good morning sir the sirens plead as they go laughing by through the pane they bleed urgency inside the smell of failed attempts and bad decisions now only to fill your lungs the taste of bitter sweet guilt now resides on your tongue this place is a scene and now you believe dig your bearings up from beneath the sweaty sheets to find the scary freezing holy carpet at your feet rise away from last nights tomb to see more in the view the resting place of many resonates the morning dew find yourself now reaching out for what is real your sense of self belongs in a few belongings you can feel a broken necklace hugs a lonesome matchbook at the seams an empty wallet shows a picture that you ve never seen this place is a scene and now you believe this place is obscene and you gotta leave