Five p.m on the dot, You always there, Even when I was not, When I was, my head elsewhere. Dreams of a Bermuda yacht, An Alpine love affair. Ruler of Camelot. Oh, how condescending, Well, if I had a label, I would not be recommending, I wonder how am I stable ? This cycle is neverending, A cyclic fable, The little engine that could not, The tortoise and the hare, With a predictable plot, Banal est mon nom de guerre, Not Rambo, not juggernaut. I dream to be used like glassware, Washed, clean, pristine, unoffending Hopefully forgotten on a table, But dreams are pretending, I am human, I am able, Happiness relies on attending. Used and abused, I, a willing sable.