Un-alone

Laben Conroy sat un-alone in his head

His lover lie cooling under the covers

She'd thrashed and moaned

She'd squirmed and she'd groaned

Whilst his fingers danced round her throat

Still unsatisfied he could not let her lie

So he rolled her over and had her again

Now Laben Conroy sat un-alone,

Crowded in fact was his head

Dripping with sweat, half hard and still wet

He buried his lover cold and dead

In a mound of pillows and sheets

The blankets still reeked

When he deserted her there in the bed

Laben Conroy walked un-alone in his head

He locked up the door on room 34

He was nine rooms through

Out of four wings this was two

How long would it be

Wondered the voices as he,

Played with the remaining sixty-six keys

’Til his manor was packed room to room.