With documents all ready I arrive;
A licence is the thing for which I strive.
I’m sent to wait at counter number three.
I’m visiting the Federal Ministry.
-
I queue with hope still stirring but I find,
Another piece of paper must be signed,
For which another man I have to see.
I’m visiting the Federal Ministry.
-
The man in question proves a tad elusive:
His desk sat in a corner most reclusive.
He looks me up and down quite critically:
I’m visiting the Federal Ministry.
-
His manner cannot be described as warm,
Eventually he deigns to sign my form,
For this I must agree to pay a fee.
I’m visiting the Federal Ministry.
-
The cashier’s desk is where I must go next.
So off I slowly trudge a trifle vexed.
This is no place to find efficiency.
I’m visiting the Federal Ministry.
-
Apparently a stamp is also needed;
Had I really thought that I’d succeeded?
A slave to bureaucratic tyranny -
I’m visiting the Federal Ministry.
-
I’m told to visit counter number two:
Forced to join another lengthy queue.
The clerk is playing with his Blackberry.
I’m visiting the Federal Ministry.
-
The line is one of crushed and broken spirits
Our patience has been pushed beyond its limits.
We’re baffled by this strange reality.
I’m visiting the Federal Ministry.
-
Bureaucracy at last begins to work
I quickly grab the licence from the clerk
I cling to shreds of tattered dignity
I’m exiting the Federal Ministry.
