Текст: Houston Davis Jones. The Floors Won't Scrub Themselves.

The dust collecting shelves are nearly bare
The laundry piles high both here and there and
The mantle-piece holds time so long now passed
From days when all these dreams still seamed to pass
When actions held rewards and life seemed purposeful
When pens were strong as swords
And the glass was not half empty but half full
Oh no, oh no


The clumps of dirt and hair collecting in the corners
Won't warrant a blank stare when no one is around
When the bells have ceased their ringing and the sounds have ceased their singing
And all the people that you know are rotting down below
The floors won't scrub themselves will they?