April 30, 2019
My bookshelf these days is always chocked full
Ranging from extraordinary to tediously dull
It's neatly arranged in an order of descending greatness
Each one upright with perfectly uniform straightness
Sometimes I'll give them a glance, that's true indeed
But I won't touch a book I've finished and will never reread
For my thoughts are absolute, I never need to check my past
The world may change but me and my bookshelf hold steadfast
When I cannot quite follow from cover to cover
I'll judge the book as evil, the horrifying "other"
And I'll rip each page out of the spine
Bathe them in turpentine
And watch them burn to ash
And then bury it in a pile of trash
And then also burn the trash
And then take all that trashy-ash
And then bury it somewhere else it'll never be found
And then deny all evidence it was ever around.
Then I'll wash my hands and go dust off my shelf
Happy that my collection is as perfect as myself.
My bookshelf these days is always chocked full
Ranging from extraordinary to tediously dull
It's neatly arranged in an order of descending greatness
Each one upright with perfectly uniform straightness
Sometimes I'll give them a glance, that's true indeed
But I won't touch a book I've finished and will never reread
For my thoughts are absolute, I never need to check my past
The world may change but me and my bookshelf hold steadfast
When I cannot quite follow from cover to cover
I'll judge the book as evil, the horrifying "other"
And I'll rip each page out of the spine
Bathe them in turpentine
And watch them burn to ash
And then bury it in a pile of trash
And then also burn the trash
And then take all that trashy-ash
And then bury it somewhere else it'll never be found
And then deny all evidence it was ever around.
Then I'll wash my hands and go dust off my shelf
Happy that my collection is as perfect as myself.
My bookshelf these days is always chocked full
Ranging from extraordinary to tediously dull
It's neatly arranged in an order of descending greatness
Each one upright with perfectly uniform straightness
Sometimes I'll give them a glance, that's true indeed
But I won't touch a book I've finished and will never reread
For my thoughts are absolute, I never need to check my past
The world may change but me and my bookshelf hold steadfast
When I cannot quite follow from cover to cover
I'll judge the book as evil, the horrifying "other"
And I'll rip each page out of the spine
Bathe them in turpentine
And watch them burn to ash
And then bury it in a pile of trash
And then also burn the trash
And then take all that trashy-ash
And then bury it somewhere else it'll never be found
And then deny all evidence it was ever around.
Then I'll wash my hands and go dust off my shelf
Happy that my collection is as perfect as myself.
My bookshelf these days is always chocked full
Ranging from extraordinary to tediously dull
It's neatly arranged in an order of descending greatness
Each one upright with perfectly uniform straightness
Sometimes I'll give them a glance, that's true indeed
But I won't touch a book I've finished and will never reread
For my thoughts are absolute, I never need to check my past
The world may change but me and my bookshelf hold steadfast
When I cannot quite follow from cover to cover
I'll judge the book as evil, the horrifying "other"
And I'll rip each page out of the spine
Bathe them in turpentine
And watch them burn to ash
And then bury it in a pile of trash
And then also burn the trash
And then take all that trashy-ash
And then bury it somewhere else it'll never be found
And then deny all evidence it was ever around.
Then I'll wash my hands and go dust off my shelf
Happy that my collection is as perfect as myself.
My bookshelf these days is always chocked full
Ranging from extraordinary to tediously dull
It's neatly arranged in an order of descending greatness
Each one upright with perfectly uniform straightness
Sometimes I'll give them a glance, that's true indeed
But I won't touch a book I've finished and will never reread
For my thoughts are absolute, I never need to check my past
The world may change but me and my bookshelf hold steadfast
When I cannot quite follow from cover to cover
I'll judge the book as evil, the horrifying "other"
And I'll rip each page out of the spine
Bathe them in turpentine
And watch them burn to ash
And then bury it in a pile of trash
And then also burn the trash
And then take all that trashy-ash
And then bury it somewhere else it'll never be found
And then deny all evidence it was ever around.
Then I'll wash my hands and go dust off my shelf
Happy that my collection is as perfect as myself.
My bookshelf these days is always chocked full
Ranging from extraordinary to tediously dull
It's neatly arranged in an order of descending greatness
Each one upright with perfectly uniform straightness
Sometimes I'll give them a glance, that's true indeed
But I won't touch a book I've finished and will never reread
For my thoughts are absolute, I never need to check my past
The world may change but me and my bookshelf hold steadfast
When I cannot quite follow from cover to cover
I'll judge the book as evil, the horrifying "other"
And I'll rip each page out of the spine
Bathe them in turpentine
And watch them burn to ash
And then bury it in a pile of trash
And then also burn the trash
And then take all that trashy-ash
And then bury it somewhere else it'll never be found
And then deny all evidence it was ever around.
Then I'll wash my hands and go dust off my shelf
Happy that my collection is as perfect as myself.