Our House

It's such a great thrill being down in our house; There isn't a chance of being quiet as a mouse: With guitars and tellies and hi-fi and things; Never-ending noise, then the telephone rings. "It's my call". "No it's not, It's for me scream the choir." They're all trying at once to yell down the wire. Then just as the babbling begins to wane; A knock at the door, Oh Help! -----it's Elaine. "Can I borrow some coffee, some milk and some bread; I'll return it next week", well that's what she said! She plants herself down on a dining room chair, Her soapbox cacophony splits open the air. I usher her quickly out through the front door, and dash to the loo, I can't take anymore. I've made it in time just before the stampede, who all, of course, have a far greater need. It's now late at night, I'm about to retire; To repose in my bed, is my one great desire. Head on the pillow, now almost asleep; Thump, bang, crash, wallop, from those horrible creeps. They've returned from a party, it's all been great fun, I wish I were the owner of a sub-machine gun!