The floor is littered
With woodchips and apple cores
And hulls of acorns
There is a chattering sound
Because they were squirrels; real squirrels
And there were thousands
This isn’t some kind of metaphor
Goddamn, this is real
The floor is littered
With woodchips and apple cores
And hulls of acorns
There is a chattering sound
Because they were squirrels; real squirrels
And there were thousands
This isn’t some kind of metaphor
Goddamn, this is real