Up on the dot at eight, Rushes breakfast, must not be late,
Blows a kiss to the wife at the garden gate, The 8.45 intercity will not wait.
Takes his usual seat on the train, "Times" crossword out, racking his brain,
Don't really know how he keeps himself sane. "Morning George," same pinstripe again.
In the office he sits, telephone rings, Typewriter clicking, secretary sings,
more paperwork his assistant brings, Does this and that and other things.
Time bombs exploding in his middle, lives his life in constant riddle,
Maybe he can work a fiddle, Might have a barbecue, if he can find the griddle.
Knocks off at 5.00 back on the train, Doesn't matter 'cause tommorows the same,
He probably really is going insane, the pressure he feels is such a strain,
His wages are good thats the main!
And on his gravestone it will say.
This man really earned his pay,
He worked hard to get where he is today,
and here eternally he will lay.
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