The Wardrobe Doors Are Half Closed, ( Comatose)

The wardrobe doors are halfclosed The wardrobe doors are halfclosed And then there comes the comatose With scabby scrawny hands Just pour a glass of wine The taste of salty pepper The tablespoons are out Why won t you let me in Without the slightest doubt Why won t you let me in The curtains drawn wide shut You re on your own again A blow up in the gut