Marillion

(fish, steve rothery, mark kelly, pete trewavas, ian mosley)
Hotel hobbies padding dawns hollow corridors
A typewriter cackles out a stream of memories
Drying out a conscience, evicting a nightmare
Opening the doors for the dreams to come home
We live out lives in private shells
Ignore our senses and fool ourselves
To thinking that out there theres someone else cares
Someone to answer all our prayers, all our prayers...
Are we too far gone, are we so irresponsible
Have we lost our balls, or do we just not care
Were terminal cases that keep talking medicine
Pretending the end isnt quite that near
We make futile gestures, act to the cameras
With our made up faces and pr smiles
And when the angel comes down, down to deliver us
Well find out that after all, were only men of straw
But everything is still the same