8 o'clock
Oh, what I’d give to stay in bed today.
I feel my work is so repetitive.
The machine has nothing but great to say.
You’d think that checks would be competitive.
But as the days blur, they go on and on,
And as fluorescents flicker on and off,
The numbers on the stub feel like a con
I begin to feel like a pig at trough.
It seems like every morning I cannot
Relate to the cubicle next to me.
The old man’s money that they might have got
The worth of which how can I think to see?
I might believe the worth of which they’ve said
But just to see I’ve got to leave this bed.
Comments:
Posted Jan 28, 2022, 5:14 AM UTC
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