He kept to his own company last night
lay upon the bed,
drapes and blinds shut tight.
He booked the wake up call,
his cases were all packed up by the door.
All ready for it, then:
goodbye room 1210.
He's taken a view
and squandered a few moments there
but no time's wasted when
he's in Room 1210.
Away from all the brutal noise outside
He paces out the waiting time.
Delaying at the threshold of the door
he's never going to go back to the party.
A black and white film
dubbed in a language
he can't understand's
been on the TV awhile.
The night rush below,
the sirens outside come and go -
no-one can touch him when
he's in Room 1210.
Time and event disappear
but every wall has ears
and the stories accrue.
Dimly, he notes spinning gears
he's one among the ghosts
whose lives have been spent in
Room 1210.
A place of safety all his own
now he's not ever going home.
Behind the door
there's just one favour he implores:
do not disturb him
any more.