the clothes in my closet are dead men

they swing and they sway and they twist and then,

they fall...and they fall to the ground.

I'm still awake but no one's around.

Nobody here but the dead men,

the dead men that hang like clothes in my closet.

Only I watch them their flailing stop,

only I hear them when they drop,

only I feel them when they fall

right by my bed, against the wall.

This morning in my closet I hung all my clothes,

but why are they gone in the dark? No one knows.

My dear just look closer, they're still there I suppose...

the clothes of the dead men, all in neat rows.

I see over my head the shadow of a noose,

faces of dead men scream to be cut loose.

The choice is mine, there isn't much time

or one day I'll join them, hung with twine.

Then I'll turn and I'll sway, I might even dance

with the dead men that hang like clothes in my closet.