My table is so square, its nature is fixed
and it never changes an opinion. The chair,
however, is a flexible rock, and always rolling around...
The oven is also a guest of the house,
sleeping the summers away, heating an apple a day.
All mouth, it is always caught in flagranti...
I wonder how the walls feel about it..?
I know that the floor's been low today.
Again the tapestry is repeating itself,
but the ceiling still shows a really high spirit.
The windows? But they never tell...
They'll rather just watch in Silence.
I often talk to the doors; they notice all
the comings and goings - and they never
forget a guest (nor me...)
The bed is not often at home. I don't know
here it's sleeping tonight - or with whom?
So what, I despise its snoring and howling...
O, the lamps are hissing again, they want
to be fed. Forever devouring the voltage
and pissing pure photons, enough to enlighten us all.
The cellar is really, really weird; It think it's
a reincarnation of ancient, lost houses and rooms.
It once was a pyramid; or so does It say...
And who do you think has told you this tale?
Then let me present myself: I'm the sofa!
Come visit me one of these days, at night.
By the way, just ignore the strange, pale humanoid,
mindlessly moping around. He is, you see, but another decoration;
The caretaker chosen to fill the vacant space...
The sofa