He slips in around you When you are asleep Thru attics and closets He silently creeps A small piece of cardboard A bottle cap there An old ball of string A long strand of hair A match from the kitchen A small piece of comb With barely a sound He turns and goes home The Collector is waiting To look thru your trash To handle your beads And pull at your sash To read thru your papers And look thru your room And gently withdraw To his own kind of gloom And then with a sigh And nothing to say The Collector goes quietly A slinking away You might also likeYour thimbles are missing The hammer is gone The light in the basement It shouldnt be on He msses with your flowers And takes an old sho Goes thru your scrapbook Before he is through Examines your figures Your cards and your dates And the The Collector He just evaporates He slips it around you When you are asleep Goes thru the attic and closet He silently creeps A small piece of cardboard A bottle cap there And an old ball of string A long strand of hair A match from the kitchen A small piece of comb With barely a sound He turns and goes home
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