9 to 5

​​

I am a slave to the power of the Machine.

My body is ran around clock,

Monitored by a strict schedule

And confirmed by way of pay stubs

Just to obtain green paper.

I sweat and burn my lifespan

To ensure survival of both Myself

And the company that

Owns my time.

I’d let go, 

but your Government 

keeps bringing me back

Forcing me to deal with

Your next move,

Because if not for you

I’d build cardboard posters

And reek of urine

As bystanders pass me by

Tired of my broke and worthless song.

And of course that’s no way to live,

But is it really living

If the only time you rest your bones

Is to prepare for yourself

For someone else’s dream?

Will I submit to

Generations of normalized

Concepts that have been proven inefficient?

Or am I destined

To break the shackles of my ancestry,

Leaving behind the trails of my success?

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