eBay once sold me such glories—
I placed my bids without care;
My house has only three stories
And I need to sit down somewhere:
There’s no room left for me—
No floor space do I see;
I live in sad debris
From all my auctioneers;
I’m making quite a fuss—
My postman wears a truss;
You ought to hear him cuss
At all my auctioneers;
It’s anybody’s guess
What lies within this mess;
I sure could do with less
But I’m a major pack rat;
Once sunlight filled this room
But now the spreading gloom
Looks just like King Tut’s tomb
Thanks to my auctioneers.
I miss my wide-open spaces—
Tunnels and paths now hold sway;
But I just keep stacking purchases
That may fall upon me someday;
With junk my home is rife—
It’s not an easy life;
Can’t even find my wife
Among my Souvenirs;
Books spill out on the floor—
And other things galore—
And I’m still buying more
From all my auctioneers;
I own a complete set
Of all there is to get;
If I don’t own it yet
Then it’s not worth having;
That I must win each lot
Even with all I’ve got
Is just a fiendish plot
Among my auctioneers.
