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A jocular exercise in self-deprecation.
Running out of places to hang my clothes, what with all the skeletons in my closet (ha ha ha ha). Ringing bells entering rooms through keyholes, phantom symbols of my former selves - the disfigured apparitions that I know too well. Tried to show them to the door, at least a hundred times before, my hospitality long spent - 'cause like the persevering pet that finds its way back to my step, always a most unwelcome guest. Bored by the chatter of a hollow skull, speaking to a corpse the conversation's dull (blah blah blah blah). Sometimes they come out and surprise my friends, bleeding eyes and histrionic cries no less; mumbling musings on an upcoming apocalypse. Tried to show them to the door, at least a hundred times before, my hospitality long drained - 'cause like the parasitic louse that lays its eggs inside your blouse, they hatch themselves inside my house.