The desk clerk leans back in his chair
Thumbing the pages of his racing form
He keeps one eye on the TV
And the other eye on the door

A ragged old man’s passed out in the lobby
After an all-night jag of booze and smack
By morning he’ll be on ice down at the morgue
Just one more John Doe in a body bag

The night seems to drag its feet
He checks in some regulars and their tricks
Most of them are out of state business men
Or first-time wide-eyed hicks

Twenty-dollar hookers in ten-dollar rooms
Hourly rates no questions asked
The cops all look the other way
For a kickback and a piece of ass

The walls are yellow from nicotine
The halls reek of desperation and piss
She takes his money, turns the key and says
“I won’t backdoor and I don’t kiss”

Through the paper-thin walls
You can hear every thud
From some dragged out sister
Acting like she’s in bed with some stud

And the air is thick with taxi fumes
Seeping into the dingy rooms
Sound of the traffic assaults your ears
While the hot sticky rain pours down like tears

And the alley is a minefield
Of junkies and homeless souls
Just one more little corner of the world
The Lord let get out of control

From the Bowery to Skid Row
There’s just darkness and despair
The circles of Hell are empty
Cos all the devils are here