The ceiling had a painting on it
In our room in France
So we were living underneath
Some angels in a danceMy husband was not feeling well
And so we went to bed
He woke up complaining
Of an aching in his headHe said a hundred people
Had come through our room that night
That one by one the old and young
Asked if he was all rightOne by one the old and young
Lined up to touch his hand
He spent the night explaining
They had come to the wrong manThe concierge was less than helpful
When we asked her the next day
With a coffee and a magazine
We went to the desk to pay"What happened in that room?", he asked
"A death or something strange?"
She smiled at him politely
And returned to him his changeWell, what I'd like to know
And this will be a mystery
Is with all the people in that room
Why none appeared to me?When we sleep so close together that
Our hair becomes entwined
I must have missed that moment
In the gateway to his mind