I've worked my fingers to the bone
And my feet are about to fall off
If I walk anymore, they'll break off at the sockets
And I wish that I had a raise
Or something to show for for wasting my days
At this place, or at least a little more than those who can't handle one little thing
And I'm burnt out in one week
And I can't handle responsibility
At least not as much as they thrust on me, or maybe I just don't want to
So I've perfected the look of pathetic
Please don't tell my manager I said it
But I'm prepared to cry and damnit I will if I have too
Lord
Please
Strike me dead so I can get some sleep
Another thousand years or so would be peachy keen
Lord
Please
I don't want to do this every day for the rest of my life
At first I thought over-time sounded cool
But hotdamn did I become the fool
Who realized there's no price you can put on the part of your soul it kills
Coming home, eating and passing out
Surly isn't all my interal life should be about
If I'm lucky I get to masturbate before it hits me
And I have to shower every day
To combat the sweat and funk and decay
But it's not that easy as it sounds when I barely have the engery to remove my shoes
And I'd sell my soul to the devil
To get out of this hellhole
If I knew this isn't where he'd put me back forever when I die
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