Guest
New day, new task, I drink another coffee, I read a bit of the paper, maybe I'll read something funny. My one client of the day, so old, so gray, nothing out of place, I'll cut it open, let's see what's inside, oh bad lunch, he had bad luck. I wash my hands, they smell like cheese, with my job, sanitation, please! I wash my hands, they're greasy too, with my job, hygiene's the rule. I start the exam, the story's clear, this one’s death, is rather queer. He loved his pizza, a giant slice, took a bite too big, paid the price. Choked on the cheese, so gooey and thick, now here he lies, it's quite a trick. I wash my hands, they're quite a sight, with my job, gotta keep them white. I wash my hands, they smell like cheese, with my job, sanitation, please! I wash my hands, they're greasy too, with my job, hygiene's the rule. I open him up, inspect with care, what a scene, but nothing rare. In his pockets, I found a note, “Pizza's life,“ that's all he wrote. An odd little man, with a taste so grand, met his end, by his own hand. I check his brain, no clues there, just lots of cheese, everywhere. I wash my hands, they smell like cheese, with my job, sanitation, please! I wash my hands, they're greasy too, with my job, hygiene's the rule. His last meal, became his doom, in the kitchen, he met his gloom. I finish my work, pack him away, another odd job, on a strange day. I wash my hands, sticky again, with my job, it's all in vain. I wash my hands, they're quite a sight, with my job, gotta keep them white. I drink another coffee, and read some more, maybe I'll find, what I'm looking for. A new day, a new task, for me, yes, for my client, it’s the last.
