There is a man who…

There is a man who's moved into my house  
What bothers me most is I don't know what he's thinking  
He goes from room to room looking about  
He enters and leaves my room while I'm sleeping 
 

He goes down to the basement, creaking each stair  
Or he's up in the attic looking about  
The worst is that he never goes out  
Or perhaps when he silently stares  

The man has collected some objects, like toys  
He holds them each up in front of his eyes  
He moves them and piles them while making strange noise  
I don't know what he is seeing  

His hours are always, his appearance unkempt  
His demeanor is furtive, his smiles infrequent  
And whenever he smiles you wish he hadn't  
The man is a box full of secrets  

He never seems tired but I don't see him sleep  
He rarely stops moving, he shuffles his feet 
And when he tries to sit still still he twitches  
He doesn't seem hungry or steal my food  
He doesn't seem ever to change his one mood  
He stares at the shadows and plays of the light  
Sometimes he rolls round in a patch of moonlight  
Or he bumps into walls in the dark of the night  
He reminds me of tales about witches

When he is around, and he's always around, 
I find myself captivated by the sound 
Of the things that he's doing, here and below ground 
Though I know they have not any meaning
 

And I find that I can't sleep and it seems 
As I wander around my dark house without dreams 
I am trying to find out what nothingness means 
And to mean it I have to become it

So we wander, the two of us, throughout the home  
When it's dark enough I feel as though I'm alone  
And I never touch food or stop shuffling my feet 
And when I pick up the objects I can tell what he sees 
If I only had known back when I was still me: 

He sees light as it shines off an object.