Another day of close surveillance
In this big, glass fish bowl,
I’ve got no qualms with honest work,
But I have a problem with rigmarole,
And I take issue with selling my soul.
I might’ve noted the rosy undertones,
But corporate snakes keep moving through the view,
Stealing my joy and box-tying me to the phones,
The copier and fax machine, too.
It’s tough not knowing which way is up,
When staring corporate America dead in her face.
Half way full or empty is my cup,
They say it doesn’t matter,
As long as I’m in my place,
And as long as my time is secure on the platter.
Receptionists are sadomasochists,
Surely, by nature.