poets day

cannot face another week

grindstone beckons

clocking in where it begins

slow minutes an long seconds

boss a greasy motherfucker

turns the screw

fire the bullet

not yet you


graft alongside assholes

new depths every day

sexist racists come out of the closet

cunt every sentence they say

wanna travel

write a book

slowly dying here

blow the joint

take the managers out

not a tear


do it on saturday

life on hold

saturday

soul is sold

saturday

every minute

saturday

rat race 

dying in it


prostituted for a meagre wage

fingers to the bone

on the very precipice

put me in room alone

with the high fallutin bastard

each and every fool

another daily fantasy

of a beaten mule


toilet seat

put down

abused used

pissed all over

bite your tongue

roof over your head

just play dumb

weekend drawing near


do it on saturday

life on hold

saturday

soul is sold

saturday

every minute

saturday

rat race 

dying in it

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