Holiday
Work,
Again;
When will this working end?
When will be life without work?
Do this…
Do that…, the master always tell;
And this hard wall is turning soft, ‘cos of hands in swell;
When will I have a day in peace?
When can I get my life back, as a baby?
Yesterday’s work, loaded;
Today, also loaded;
Patience, mon ami, your wish you’ll see. Morrow’s free.
Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago | Year Posted 2007
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