I am a collector of things, he said
Of all I can fit in my head
Hoarding the ghosts  I have come to displace
Vicarious grins on my face
But standing beside the lot I've arranged
I conclude I am slightly deranged
The rope that I hold becomes heavy and loose
And ties itself into a noose
Somehow it dresses the nape of my neck
Like the sea wears a ship in a wreck
There is no space in my mind anymore
And I'm waiting outside by the shore
Hang up the line that contains what I am
Remind me that I'm just a man