The Collector Lyrics
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
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And then with a sigh
And nothing to say
The Collector goes quietly
A slinking away
Your thimbles are missing
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