You sometimes think you'd be better off dead
You drive to work in a beat up car
You know where you're going
You don't know where you are
You might think you could be happy someday
You work a crap job, you don't know why
You follow your orders, you never blink an eye you listen to them scream and
You listen to them yell
You watch them create your own little private hell
You go to bed but you cannot sleep you wonder how you're gonna make it through the week
You finally doze off, you fall into a dream
You are the puppet who wants to cut it's strings.
posted by Bergen @ 1:38 PM
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