One Two Three

One...
It’s me. Walking the marble floor
With a leather bag and a pair of black, polished shoes
Chit chating about the weather

Two...
That’s me. Aligning the plate,
the spoon and the fork
Cutting the apple into pieces
Washing my clothes

Three...
Is it me?
Someone pushed the button
So it’s probably me,
Creeping under the darkness
And taste my bitter lips
Lookin for a hostage
To be condemned