There's wooden blinds and verticals, and tinted mirror glass
We can't see up and in; we're down and out; we're lower class.
It's a little disconcerting, in this one way goldfish bowl,
To feel the eyes that watch us pouring concrete in the hole
When we work at places where the folks are upper crust,
We must discipline our sphincters, till we're near about to bust.
We dare not drink much water, and deprive ourselves of food.
We are lowly little plebiscites, so obviously crude.
We dare not taint the garden, or the tempting lemon tree.
We don't know if someone's watching, but we know that they can see.
We cannot work and cross our legs; The only thing to do,
Is jump into the van and drive to find a public loo.
We're grotty little plebiscites who work out in the sun
One never knows what one might catch, if one should talk to one.
Unworthy of acknowledgment, in any shape or form.
Plebiscitis is infectious and it may become the norm.
We build their walls and renovate; add value to their homes.
In their eyes we have the status, of little working gnomes.
Their gnomes'll stand and smirk at us, as we work on in pain.
Are we homo erectus? Are we hard to toilet train?
A garage door will open by itself from time to time.
A silhouette drives in or out; no need for bell or chime.
Each tinted family member has the latest four-wheel drive,
They've a Rotty dog, who salivates the moment we arrive.
Is it really all that hard to just say "How ya goin' mate?
If you need to use the toilet, go round this way through the gate.
When a house exudes a glaring disregard for flesh and mind,
One cannot help but wonder, why some sighted folk are blind.
But as mere plebs we slave away; so clearly that's our lot.
For it's not what we are, it's what we do, and what we've got.
Then suddenly it hits me; all my questioning abates.
They're all West Coast Eagles members, and they've seen my Dockers plates.
Wayne Pantall 11/12/04