My tights are drying on the back of the chair. Comb the bugs and dirt out of my hair. Rescued some kids from a porno operation, in a basement in Detroit. Drew the smack out of junkie's toe. I left laying grateful on the kitchen floor. Flew out the window, landed on both feet, and took off again.
This is a thankless job. It doesn't pay that well. maybe it's a feel-good thing for me. I can't tell. I can't tell. Look, I may be strong, but I've only got two arms. Call that guy in Metropolis and say "I can't handle this!"
They put the signal out into the clouds. I dropped my blinds, turned the t.v. up loud, sank down in my easy chair and said "Damn. Not again." But I pulled myself up, got my cape and boots, and my big, red belt that's only for looks. No special features. No laureate to round-up evil creatures.
No holidays in this line of work. No compensation should I get hurt. I'm getting sick of this. I mean I get no recognition for all the things I fix. I get no respect! Look, I may be strong, but I've only got two arms. Call that guy in Metropolis and say "Leave me out of this!"