I sleep in a beige-walled room
With one token piece of art
Hanging from a screw
Recycled from a car
With boxes and boxes all around me
I feel like I'm in a morgue
Just playing euchre with dead guys
Complaining about being a corpse
Oh, but no one ever told them
That death would be this hard
So I gotta break the news
I sleep with the hangman now
And his walls are full of art
Attempting to distract him from
His work in the hanging yard
But at night I slip down to the cemetery
So I can hang with the hangers, correct
But they can barely keep their heads up
On account of their broken necks
Oh, but no one ever told them
That death would be this hard
So I gotta tie the noose
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