Down the stairs

He found an old fat woman

Waiting down his stairs

She moved a broken white fan

That could blow no air

Since he looked so very tired

She gave him a wheelchair

It was made of matchsticks burnt

And could his weight not bear

“ What an awful choice to make

Take that seat or go to bed

My body’s all so weary

I’m not too sure I could

Climb these stairs”

And gathering all drunken strength

He made his way up there

But trippled down on the first step

And broke his neck par terre

“What a wrong choice you did make

You should have taken my chair

Your body’s all so bloody now and you’ll

Never climb up anywhere …”

Then she stood and walked with care

Pulled the body by the hair

Put that dead meat on the chair

And she vanished, leaving him there.