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Fingers
Pile
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Can always find a warm place
That will smile backwards at you
Filled with fine folks
That can't get their fingers out of their mouth
But one night when sleep fell out of favor
I decided to shuffle around my furniture
And I couldn't stop cleaning
Till the brooms were sore and all the sponges bleeding
I left a mess all over the floor
Then left through the window just to spare the door
Of a house that burned down before I was born
Chores carried out in a vacuum
Or shoving a stone up a hill
Ascribing the asburd a meaning
Bearing no likeness to what it will
It was then I noticed my finger bleeding
I, for one, blame the thumb
You find the rooms exit
In that it's just a handful of walls
Not one thing is everything
And not everything has a meaning
You can lie
You can lie
You can lie
You can always lie
Oh, the sense of defeat was strong
And in it's season of feeding
And the broom was all numb and all the sponges now meaty
So I laid out on the floor
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