First floor:
Here live the blind
Who believe what they see
And the deaf
Who believe what they hear
Bound and gagged to a kitchen-stool
Sits a fool, who believes
In all he can feel
(His hands in his lap)

Second floor:
Roll after roll
Length after length
In wood chip wallpaper
Lone tenants stand around
Observing the walls with frowns
Looking for printing and spelling mistakes
They couldn't even decipher their own names

Up to the next floor!
Which, oh wonder! Never completed
Can only be reached by the stairs
—
—
—
Here are stored errors
Which belong to the firm
And with which they tile the floors
Upon these none may tread
Fourth floor:
Here lives the architect
Immersed in his plan of
This building crammed with ideas
It stretches from funda- to firmament
And from its foundations to the firm

In the ground floor:
There are four doors
They lead
Directly out-of-doors
Or more precisely: to the corner-stone
He who wants to can wait there
The concrete's coming at twelve
Corner-stone Lego
Thought passages are painted over
In head-height brown
Infamous or catholic purple
For better orientation

Top floor:
Has some damage
In the rafters an old man sits
Dead angels are strewn across the floor
(Their faces resemble his)
Between his knees he holds a gun
He aims it as his mouth
And into the skull
And out of the skull's other side
Into the roof's apex
Drills that bullet
God has shot himself
Now a top floor can be renovated
God has shot himself
Now a top floor can be renovated
Lies, Lies
A top floor can be renovated