My job is to cool the room
I spin round and round
At times I stop but I always must resume
I spin constantly trying not to make a sound

My job is to cool the room
As I spin I send air down
If it were not for my the room would gloom
When I'm not on the human has a frown

My job is to cool the room
The human sweats as it sits
If he turned me on the heat would no longer loom
He wouldn't be so hot when my cool air hits

He sits still mouth ajar, panting
Why has he not turned me on
Does he not want me on for my constant ranting
I can make cool air its not a con

My job is to cool him
If only he'd turn me on
I could make the room feel less grim
With me on the hot air would be gone

My job is to cool him