i picture you talking to yourself
behind a mahogany desk
in some building where people dress too nice
and they're wearing
smiles and prices and smiles and prices
smiles and prices and smiles and prices and smiles
you think, "they're all so nice today,
if only they knew my name!
god forbid there be a change…
and i should feel good again."

you work and spend
you bend and bend and you bend
try and comprehend the formulas given
for money, success
sixty hours a week is happiness?
and oh how it matters;
why's it matter?
you once had all these dreams, i remember
ripped at the seams.
you left them all behind.
…oh, you left us all behind.

you firm your tie
you'd rather die than be late
to a six a.m. date
and a spilled cup of coffee
and traffic and swearing
lonely wife on the phone
your child's TV blaring
but you're empowered, by the sour taste of stress
and you like the way your boss makes your dress
and you like being home less and less
and you like the fake formal way that you're always addressed.
…oh, your money has run your mind bankrupt
is my guess.

so here's to you, it's picturesque
you trapped in that mahogany desk
and you get no calls, you make no friends
and you drive home stiffly when the long shift ends
in that building where people dress too nice
they're all wearing
smiles and prices and smiles and prices
smiles and prices and smiles and prices and smiles
you think, "they're all so nice… to me.
sometimes i wish they'd be mean!
god forbid we should have feelings!

…and i should feel good again."

© 2008 - Lynn O'Brien