Sitting in a dusty laundrette, listening to the dryers.
There's some kind of rhythm here.
Sitting, sitting, waiting for clothes.

Waiting for clothes, waiting for clothes.
Sitting, listening,
On a hard bench.

With a bent back, and elbows that hurt,
Sitting, on a cold bench,
There's some kind of picture here.

Sitting in an empty laundrette, listening to the drums
That go whud-whud-whud
As they spin like they always spin.

Spinning, making that whud-whud-whud-
Which thud-thud-thuds against the ribcage.
Waiting for the plastic clock to hail the clothes.

On a hard bench, in dust and socks,
Sitting, waiting, sitting,
Listening for the clock, and clothes.

Waiting.
Waiting..
Waiting...
Waiting....
Tick.
Ding.

There was some kind of man here, once.