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 there's someone else cares
Someone to answer all our prayers

Are we too far gone, 
are we so irresponsible
Have we lost our balls, 
or do we just not care
We're terminal cases 
that keep talking medicine
Pretending the end isn't 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
We'll find out that after all, 
we're only men of straw

But everything is still the same
Passing the time passing the blame
We carry on in the same old way
We'll find out we left it too late 
one day to say what we meant to say

Just when you thought 
it was safe to go back to the water
Those problems seem to arise 
the ones you never really thought of
The feeling you get is similar 
to something like drowning
Out of your mind, you're out 
of your depth, you should 
have taken soundings
Clutching at straws, 
we're clutching at straws

And if you ever come 
across us don't give us your sympathy
You can buy us a drink 
and just shake our hands
And you'll recognise by 
the reflection in our eyes
That deep down inside we're 
all one and the same

We're clutching at straws
We're still drowning 
Clutching at straws