look through these empty eyes and past the desolation
in them is realized the drama of frustration
taken paths worn down with life,
sanctified with tension
oh, the glory of a working day is glory only to the bossman
time will tell if time
is standing by my side
and life will blink its eyes
as I work myself blind
we hide ourselves in a blur of lust, liquor and nostalgia
tramp down the gravel on our streets
like passive strikers
take a pint of sins to wash away what you should be
guilty conscience
but guilt is somewhere far and away to shrug
the system is how we like it