And my broom is my only support."
With features sallow and grim,
With visage sadly forlorn,
The Janitor sat in the Janitor's room,
Weary, and sleepy, and worn.
It's a fact, fact, fact,
He sat with a visage forlorn,
And still as he sat with a voice half cracked,
He sang the Janitor's song.
Carmina Collegensia.