I come back, I come back, oh broom

They all smiled, always smiled,
up there afar in their offices
the secretaries´ mirroring teeth all "it´s fine, it will be fine"
the coffees haunting the office via their china
Bosses absently talking about the "situation"
they comprehend our situation, they say it,
but it is always the "situation" and they are so, so sad
Good luck, the speech goes, good luck, we´ll call you later, fare well.


I come back, I come back oh good old broom,
You me and the endless floor it´s all good it´s alll good,
It is so loud, so loud, the yelling upstairs,
marriages in floors that go crah, that crash,
at five in a wedneday, your sleep goes out
of the window-thaks to some baby´s volume, some tantruming brat.

Hands, they think about the bubbles kissing them so gently,
when the dissapointed elders (always) ruminating about your unlife
away your daymares, away those gentle rejection down the sink, loudly draining,
Pick up the old, arthritic broom, numb your empty days danciing
with that old lady, eyes on the floor, madness locked in the skull, sweeping left and right.

Off we go, jumping the dust, sniff and cough, cough and grunt
Go and catch it, run behind it, chase that speck of dust somewhere in the back in the front
never forget that feeble molecule, somehwere in the household
Those who labored in Mars long before they were specks in the blood of their mothers
(as they always at great length with great selfmade pride constantly remind you)
say without breath taking nor pause nor hitch in their strides, and off again you go.