Reality comes crashing back

With the first cigarette of the day

Too bad, I’ve got to find a job again

That’s a very boring thing

For a man who can smell with his fingers

I must line my pockets with cash

Till I smell nothing

But my own greed

The mechanical humiliation seed

One all-that-glitters centipeed

Time lingers, stuck on red pen

Circleing another clean notion

Of time wasting labour

Towards another mans dream

His horrid snotty kids need more icecream

How can I sit one-on-one in interview

Lying for a job I don’t want to do

Save me from this

Leave me poor

My time my own for ever more


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