| CARUSOISM |
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| THE PILE MAN |
The pile man drives his spike so deep
Makes restless bones of little sleep
The noise it pierces darkened air
While sleepy heads start to care
The work for bread and butter
Sent the night to quickly shutter
Another blow for another dollar
Another pole for another hole
Thoughts of sleep are quickly soured
As peace gets rarer by the hour
A golden tower for golden hours
A strangers work for sleep devoured
Eyes are weary of alarm clock hands
As hands surely rest on midnight stands
Thoughts of damnation surely abound
As the crew outside works the ground
Madness or fatigue will have to win
A decision to holler or try sleep again
To holler or...sleep...
To sleep....
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