terça-feira, 24 de abril de 2012

Work till death.

You´ve reached impatience.
It´s raw frustration
and abrasive headaches.
Boss has got you on overtime.
Got you on the clock,
over the desk, on the deadline.
Fingers to their stumps,
forget the bones.
Coming home in the early hours,
sleepless and alone.
Now it´s twelve months since you left old beth.
Or did she leave you swearing never to regret.
The house of slavery invites you in as a guest.
Sitting at the head of the table is our man death.

Nenhum comentário:

Postar um comentário