Nestled near the back, in the basement of this colossal, degenerate hotel,
Lies the neatly stacked, chilled remains of those who are no longer ill.
The decaying remnants of those whom even the blade could not save,
Whose tortured spirits, on disinfected tables, gave their last breath away.
No manner of modern tinkering could out-do their incurable fate,
Now they lay in a man-made limbo, lingering on, yet lifeless, they wait..
Rather like they did while still alive on all those sundry, gargantuan lists,
As the rain and wind ripped all the roses to shreds, through the rising mists.
All you geriatric gymnasts, leaping from one death-defying illness to another,
Your tricks will come to an end here, just like your incontinent old mother.
Those who never amounted to much in life grow in stature in this place.
They have been through a lot.. probably even more than you or I...
Botched jobs, tumorous children, murder-victims...
All gather here together, coagulating like a muddy river in stormy weather.
For the next few cold hours, the buzzing florescent light will be their only
hymns.
Surgeons sleepy from too many long nights on shift....
Their heroic failures line these corridors. Throw another Martini into the mix,
Its time to drown our sorrows. Not a few of these quiet inmates were killed by
cocktails of their own....Pharmaceuticals is big business, after all.
But the real errors, like me, still walk amongst you. Proud, ashamed. Not
nearly so tall...