I always think a hotel overcharges lodgers
For a sleepless night hundreds of dollars
What I get from that bed
and chandelier overdead?
between sheets as white as snow
as upon a cloud I always sleep slow
A cake of soap, a tube of toothpaste
with a swimming brain I go to breakfast
No regret I go my way the next day
It is a room not of my own, anyway.
What if a room of my own
What extras would I put down
that would eventually turn dust
Earth to earth, dust to dust.
A hotel room, anyway, is all I need to live in
We are nomads, passing the world wthin.