alarm clock rings, i crawl out of bed. i'm not looking forward to what lies ahe ad. all day i'm like a zombie, the working dead. today's gonna be a boring day . i know it. i'm not interested in what i'm doing. i show it. i wish that i could walk away. you know? we're all the same. would happiness be worth the w ait? would all the mondays be worth the pain? some say they'll see. i don't ag ree. nose to grindstone. everyday i walk to work and say, i wish that i could go somewhere where time's not despised, clocked in and put in line, but "th at's the way it goes." spending our years pinned as slaves. tired and und er-paid, while no one ever knows what life's about. work to survive until we're 65 and then it's time to die. nose to grindstone. everyday i walk to work and say, "i wish that i could go." working so hard just to survive, unti l we're 65 and then it's time to cry with the rest of them. die with the best o f them. we lie to ourselves and think that life's exciting. we cry... we die. we lie... we die without ever knowing what we could have done with ourselves.
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