The Men's Room
The fucking kids are whinging
They can't get a job;
The photocopy repair man
Is a smarmy smartarse knob;
I've been running this office
For so long I can't recall -
I've gone and pissed thirty years
Up against a wall.
"Good morning Mr Jenkins,"
The office girls all say;
"Gentlemen," I tell the board,
"What's the agenda for today?"
I play the part so desperately
Because the truth so appals:
I've gone and pissed thirty years
Up against a wall.
The fingers that knot my tie
Are fat with some success;
But they tremble - still so slightly,
So far only I notice:
In the far off wilderness
A lone hyena calls:
I've gone and pissed thirty years
Up against a wall.
Off I go to the men's room
For the seventh time today:
My bladder no longer hears me,
No matter what I say.
I count the tiles in front of me,
And wait as the trickle falls:
I've gone and pissed thirty years
Up against a wall.