Five Flights to Home: Ode to Princes Street Hostel

Just through this doorway
Is one of the best hostels on earth:
But beware ye brave traveller
There's five flights to the birth
that all must undergo
before they can find therein berth: 



The sign's out the front,
And welcomes you in,
The mates are down center,
And beckon within.

The stairs are damn daunting

But you surge on ahead.

The first flight is over,

And you're not yet dead.

The road was a long one, 

That brought you to here:

From London or further

The call you did hear.

"Come to Princes Street Hostel

The world is your throne.

Come to your haven,

My daughter, my son!"

But the second flight's down,

your legs already are weak:

You'd like to look upwards,

But you're feeling too meek. 


Wo to the visitor
Who's packed a full case!
Wo to the traveller
With stress on his face.
Wo to the packer
Who's ladened with gear!
Wo to the short-legged

Or the drunken with beer.

But the third flight's behind you,
And you could go for one now,
That's why they put a pub here:
"The Royal Order of Buffalo"!

Another pint down

Don't fear we'll make more,

There's plenty to go 'round

If you can get through the door.

The fourth flight is tempting:

Another hostel is here,

The sirens are calling you

to the rocks that are near.

Push on mighty pilgrim!
One flight more to go,
Soon the way is over
and you'll be through the door!

Just then the thought strikes you
Like lightning through wood--
will there be a bed waiting?
You didn't reserve like you should!
Oh, to be turned away,
After five flights of hell!
But even worse is- you realize-

That they might accept you as well!

Then what will you do?

And where will you go?

Every morning and evening
You'll have to climb this damn stairwell!

Too late! It's been done,

And you crash through the doors:

And there at reception

You must make your choice.

But just there to greet you

Before you can turn back from pain 

Is the devil himself

Wearing a grin,

"Come right in! Come right in!"

He waves with a smile,

"You've survived the stairwell,

Yes you've survived the first trial.

No worries, though mate,

There's more yet besides:

Every time you will smoke,

You must go outside!"

"Oustide in the court yard?"

You say like a dope,

"Or out on the veranda?"

you add with more hope.

"Ha-ha," chuckles Satan,

"Just sign right here...

Very good you can check out

Any time you so care.

But there's only one in,

and only one out,

and that's through that doorway

and the stairwell without."

Then before you can answer,

More bust through the door,

And you shoulder your pack

and head for your room,

wondering if maybe

it's not a good time

to quit smoking!