Dead Ends of Our Time

Speeding train heads towards its destination,
Sticking me in an office for eight hours a day,
And I sit there, producing trivial information
As if it were the Ten Commandments of our time.

Speeding train heads towards its destination,
Bringing me home to where I can be myself again,
And I sit there, producing trivial information
As if it were the Ten Commandments of our time.

The difference being I enjoy writing when at home,
But only when it means something to somebody.

Speeding train heads towards its destination,
Resenting my presence on its weathered seat,
And I sit there, wishing to be anywhere else
But heading to another day and another dead end.

Speeding train heads towards its destination,
Resenting my presence on its weathered seat,
And I sit there, wishing to be anywhere else
But heading back home to another dead end.

The difference being I can go to sleep when I get home,
And drift away while hoping to never wake up.

Speeding train heads towards its destination,
Getting faster with the rhythm in my chest,
And I sit there, hoping the train goes so fast
That it derails and bursts into flames.

Speeding train heads towards its destination,
Getting faster with the rhythm in my chest,
And I sit there, hoping the train goes so fast
That it derails and crashes into the sea.

Every smart man knows when he is no longer needed,
Every smart man knows when to take his final bow.