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In this world we are unprepared To cope with trivial things Like when your hands are full of dough And then the doorbell rings Or when you come to tie your shoes Your shoe is black, the lace is too Of course the lace decides to break But all your spares are brown or blue And when you plug the cleaner in The bag decides to burst You disappear in clouds of dust But even that is not the worst For the ultimate goes wrong When queuing for the bus Three go by the other way Though even that’s not why I fuss Oh no, the worst is yet to come For when my bus it does arrive I’m last of six folk standing there Conductor shouts just room for five |
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