These little things I care for
Will mean nothing when I'm gone;
They won't cast a new dawn
Onto these people I adore.

Yet I care, and I do so more
When I'm escaping from my life.
I listen to my music and wife
As we both remain poor.

"Welcome, sir!" "How do you do?"
"What you like a bag with that?"
I hand the bag to a man of fat,
Surprised he can fit through the door,
Surprised he didn't crack the floor,
My hatred for man continues.

I arrive at my abode
And continue these little things;
O' the happiness they bring!
I can feel my life corrode...