The floor pattern is straight columns and rows.
Then, sameness's face relieves you no more.
Ever this open office, so closed, goes.
See here, and people that go by dot gov,
no matter whether this country or that,
engender no true fondness or dear love.
No help for those who stand, sit or sat.
Red is all a bureaucracy begat:
In that door, the tape's endless before us.
Yer blood will boil hues and brains fry in fat.
Patterns and lines, red tape--there's the end-us.
Now listen to me. The most can be said.
Help from hell here? a polite "Drop you dead."
