Fingers - Pile

You 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 mouths

But one night, when sleep fell out of favor

I decided to shuffle around my furniture

And I couldn’t stop cleaning

Till the broom was sore and all of those 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 absurd a meaning

Bearing no likeness to what it will

It was then that I noticed my finger bleeding

I, for one, blame the thumb

You find the room’s exit

In that it’s just a handful of walls

Not one thing is everything

And not everything has a meaning

But you can lie

You can lie

You can lie

You can always lie

The sense of defeat was strong and in its season of feeding

And the broom was all numb and all the sponges now meaty

So I laid out on the floor