At the End of the Hall

At the end of the hall

There's a little red door

That you've never walked by

Or seen ever before

And a tiny little skull

Painted right on the knob

And it leads to the attic

That's the Home of the Slob

And the Slob is an old old man in his thirties

Counting feathers that were clean But since have gone dirty

And the hot pocket soup

That he keeps in his jars

Hasn't gone bad for months

Cause its oiled by Cars

And the songs that he sings

To the family below

That they think is the radio

From neighbors next do'

Is about one by one

How he'll get them all soon

When the little skull rotates

And he leaves

The room

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Credited to dhays202 

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