That's What Must Have Happened To Colin

This is the fourth floor,
And this is definitely a fourth floor,
Kind of head-space,
I mean,
In the kind of stuff that happens here.

Do you remember when we thought we lost,
The day-glo grey stapler?
Yes! That! My God,
Who can forget that day-glo grey stapler?
I know, mad wasn't it!

And do you remember that time Jack shouted:
Look I've found the day-glo grey stapler,
And then straight away,
He put it on his head,
And said:
It's on my head!
It still cracks me up now,
It never fails to crack me up,
Never!
And that happened, what, nine years ago?
No, maybe it was even nine-and-a-half.
This is the fourth floor of fourth floors,
The mother and father of fourth floors.

You know what I think?
Fourth floors' tread that fine path,
(That's if fourth floors can tread a fine path,
But I'm obviously being metaphorical, obviously),
Between zany and crazy.

You know, to me, fourth floors,
Are where office humour truly can lift the lid,
On its unexpurgated dark-side,
And I suppose, because of that,
It can wreak,
Intentionally or otherwise,
A kind of mind-havoc on the unprepared,
And gentler souls,
That, in extreme cases,
Can unleash that serial killer instinct,
That hides in us all.

That's what must have happened to Colin,
Almost like in one of those "going postal" documentaries,
That's what must have happened to Colin..yeah?

But that stapler thing always cracks me up.
Like I say,
And I've been here ten years now.

You know,
I could have gone,
For a three month secondment,
To the seventh floor two years ago,
And,
I turned it down,
Flat.
I mean, I just couldn't leave this place,
This decompression chamber,
Of fine-line madness.
Leave all this,
For the workaday permafrost route-one humour,
Of the other floors?

This place,
This fourth floor,
It's just bad lyrics,
Bad lyrics..

But Colin,
Boy,
When I saw him,
When I saw him on Crimewatch,
His shaved head.
What he go and do that for?