I oft wake up in mornin'
To the sound of rodents rooting ghastly tunnels in my things
And all my junk it seems to rise
And reach the ceiling, tips, creates a looming hazard

I lost my new Verizon
I discern remote commotion of insistent hidden rings
And through these heaps to persevere
There’s tiny pathways running through my choking bedrooms

Oh! Make U-turn! That way is blocked through
Is it obscene, accruing stuff that I procured, of?
My house is strewn with gross disorder
My place a blight, reclusive cluttered sty of stuff

You might have heard my footsteps
Crunching softly on the pizza boxes stacked up and inclined
All of those pulltabs I’ve reclaimed
And trash cans lurching filled with fun things like old clothes pins

You might have seen me rummage
Through the cans the neighbors put out, for some treasures left behind
If you condemn things, I’ll ensnare
Outside amassed more, looks as though my shed is breedin’

It’s a concern, what I’ll bump into
It’s my great scheme to charge some money: to take tour of
It has no theme, my nest of plunder
Embracing my reclusive cluttered sty of stuff

(instrumental interlude: March of the Wooden Clothespins)

Ye Gods! In dreams, I buckle under...
Escape this blight: reclusive cluttered sty of stuff