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.