The Cubicle Blues

Skyscrapers, our societies pyramids Built with a work force in need of these jobs But these meaningless buildings are made for the boss, Where the only way to lift your spirits is to take the elevator To your top floor universe, Amazing the 10 feet distance between us Determines that we are the losers And our worlds should all orbit around you This constant cubicle blues, Yet you sit there with your own good news, Your going golfing today! Oh, wait, that’s everyday And we’re tired of being the calls you put on hold Because some how our happiness was sold For your new vacation home But we’re done with listening to your dial tone We know it’s about the survival But we are the ones in need of revival since you don’t help anybody Your desk is our captor and we are societies slaves Why do you always choose the money When it’s printed in the millions But each person is 1 in 7 billion And your children have no one, You started an epidemic of sad teens With an incurable disease called loneliness So why don’t you swivel in your chair and turn the other cheek Cause we’re already too far-gone to keep up this life of lies This will be our demise How are we supposed to fill shoes full of infamy And rubber soles that are empty Secrets, that you never told until you were proud enough We don’t want to wear this straight jacket you call a suit and tie Because all it’s meant to do is clip our wings so we can’t fly How can you sit at your breakfasts with blood on your fingertips When that meal could’ve saved three families It’s clear to me you don’t need me Your love is only a formality Which is almost comforting at least you’re still capable of niceties But I’ve learned the true distance between our floors Should be measured in galaxies