Feels like we're talking to echoes in here
Walking backwards down an old flight of stairs
You're in the garden, and I'm in the bedroom
The food's boiling over and the radio'll be broken soon
It's midnight. We're alone. And the business is running itself
For just how long has this been going on?
Feels like this midnight is chocking the dawn
There's dust on the covers and webs in the corners
And ringing the door bell's the aging blood donor
Our only returning guest all this while
He's holding up bloodpacks and flashing a smile with no teeth
It's midnight. Someone answеrs, 'cause the business is running itsеlf
A stack of old suitcases litters the lobby
Stickers from countries to close to interesting
Yeah right! And the flowers that die on the window sill
Don't mean a thing, no they don't mean a thing!
The donor checks out and rings the reception bell
The business as usual takes care of itself
The hotel is falling apart at the seams
The wall paper's turning from off-white to rotting dark green
It's midnight. Now it's just you and me, and a bucket of drying white paint
We're all alone. And the business is running itself oh!
Itself oh oh oh!