He waits and waits and waits,
Patiently from below.
Patiently from below.
As a sigh from the figure is let,
For there is only irritation to show.
As you finish your poo,
As much as your body could do,
The toilet man shall emerge from below,
And clean everything thoroughly, their equipment gliding through.
Not a spot is missed,
Of course, not for the very least.
No matter where a stain may be,
Their existence will be seized.
To-and-fro and to-and-fro,
The toilet man cleans.
The toilet room is spotless,
As it can obviously be seen.
Never his timing was late.
His punctuation and volatility were always pre-set,
His legitimacy as a wide convention,
For The toilet man is no obstacle, he is divine intervention.
Near, far, wherever you are,
He will always be there.
His work is nothing short of mere,
As he has always been heavily credited by the Tsar.
Would this come across as random?
The curiosity for such trivial beings?
Maybe his tale is long,
A puzzle piece missing, which we have not seen.
The toilet man may be mortal.
He may one day die,
But across our hearts and all toilets above,
He is eternal, that is no lie.
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