| He gets around in a wheelchair
|
| Sometimes I push to show I care
|
| (Sobbing)
|
| Sometimes he sighs and sheds a tear
|
| He looks at me, eyes filled with fear
|
| (Sobbing)
|
| He takes a box of dominoes
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| Upon his lap each place he goes
|
| (Sobbing)
|
| Somehow he laughs and I can see
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| That he hates soap, as much as me
|
| That he hates soap, as much as me
|
| That he hates soap, as much as me
|
| «Dominoes no longer excite me, nasty black objects. |
| What I need is tragic in
|
| the extreme. |
| However, you know, I’m better off in my wheelchair.
|
| It has been rather noisy lately, but I can’t protest. |
| Because cleanliness is
|
| next to Godliness, and soap is not God. |
| He now ignores me, something to do with
|
| my reticence, no doubt. |
| No matter, the hums do not intrude, nor the squeaky
|
| wheels. |
| Though the thought of soap still angers me, one thing’s for sure,
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| I’ll never complain. |
| Except of the chemist, who tantalized me with good reason.
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| Say no more! |
| I really have flipped, and with just enough room to maintain an
|
| iota of sanity.» |