My underwear drawer, she says is a mess
Thrown in together with nothing folded
and that I can't iron is scandalous
I force a weak smile as I'm scolded
The oma shakes her head while she mumbles
Her accent is stark and her eyes narrow
I hope she won't hear my stomach rumbles
She asks Hans gruffly if I'm a sparrow
A sparrow? Oh I'm not! But if I were
How far away I'd fly from every slight
A sparrow would never wait and endure...
Even a sparrow would be more forthright.
The Oma says I need to learn to cook
I tell her shut up – but only by look