A Sob Story

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
Upon his lap each place he goes
(Sobbing)
Somehow he laughs and I can see
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,
I’ll never complain. Except of the chemist, who tantalized me with good reason.
Say no more! I really have flipped, and with just enough room to maintain an
iota of sanity.»