Fingers

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