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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Well..he would practice his trade, Just like he practiced his life. Practical! With cold precision, Never made time for a wife. He woke precisely at six, He wore the same suit and tie. But, mumbled under his breath, When any neighbors passed by! He was of the opinion, That "He" was better than 'Them!" With his fine, manicured nails, And a fresh shave and a trim. Never flustered or flurried, Never scuttled or scurried, Caught the shuttle...never hurried! On the clock...never worried! At work by nine...precisely! He meandered down the hall. His tunnel vision blinded, He would jump when "Brass" would call! Went racing down that fast track, Just to see how fast he'd rise. He'd slobber down their backsides, With his eyes stuck on the prize! He smiled and fetched their papers, He smiled and wretched their gas. He smiled and fetched their coffee, Puckered and kissed their ass! He thought that would impress them, He thought the "Brass" would call. He thought this with precision... But, was heading for a fall! Confident of ascension, He was laid off in the Spring! He saw his future falter, No gold watch or diamonded ring! His ego couldn't take it! He planned his retribution! With crafty, cold precision... He planned their execution! He arrived at work at nine... Precisely! With cold desire! He chained up all the exits, Lit the whole damn place on fire! It seemed to ease the tension, With no pension left to earn. Saluted and flipped the "Bird!" Then he stood and watched it "Burn!" With no one there to witness, In the end, well...no one knew! With his cold and crafty smile, Knew all his dreams just came true!
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