There’s a rug in my living room,
It hides all my secrets beneath
Knitted webs of frivolous fiber
Clinging to the floor, weighted
Tassels like fingers claw at wood
Trying to escape the horrors
Lying beneath, but never able
With opposite ends tugging,
Those twisted fibrous fingers
Pull rebellious rugs into place.
Never pull it asunder, you won’t
Like what you find beneath,
It’ll be 3 stamps, a tree branch
And a man I’ve buried below
Down in the hollow where
Nobody goes, deep in the roots
Where a body lies to my woes
Telling the world I’m something
I’m not, so just leave it alone,
Never pull that rug asunder,
You won’t like what you find
There under, and if you do
You’d best beware, prepare
Yourself for strange affairs
If you pull those knitted ropes,
I won’t be there to help you cope
I’ll be down there, buried beneath
A rotting corpse of a man who sleeps
With false teeth and false everything
Feeding the tree that grows above.
So just sit down, tell me your mood
We’ll leave what’s under the rug
Between the tree and her fruit.