The Hitler Waltz

The year is fine, it's thirty four.
Adolf Hitler at my door.
A waltzing round the polished floor,
with cream and cakes but he wants more.

Naughty Hitler.
He's Polished the place!

"Hello my dear", the waiters lair.
The music spins throughout the air,
and Adolf laughs at me from there.
Upon mine head there is no hair.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.