Offices… a silly song of work

Cubicles

 

THIS CUBICLE

I sit inside this cubicle all day

Partitioned off by three walls

My mind feels the same way

There’s got to be somewhere I can escape

No, I can’t close a door

No, I have to use some tape

 

This cubicle…

It’s well defined…

This cubicle…

The name plate says it’s mine

Well, if that’s true then why can’t I just tear it all apart

This cubicle…

It’s gonna break my heart

 

This office space seems just like a machine

Moving pieces people

We recycle because we’re green

So many voices chiming everyday

Keyboards, rat-a-tat-tat-tat

Like machine guns in a way

 

This cubicle…

It’s well defined…

This cubicle…

The name plate says it’s mine

Well, if that’s true then why can’t I just tear it all apart

This cubicle…

It’s gonna break my heart

 

I hear my name called from another space

I stand to look around

But what I see is my own face

Just another head staring back at me

An office of automatons

What else is there to see

 

This cubicle…

It’s well defined…

This cubicle…

The name plate says it’s mine

Well, if that’s true then why can’t I just tear it all apart

This cubicle…

It’s gonna break my heart

This cubicle…

It’s well defined…

This cubicle…

The name plate says it’s mine

Well, if that’s true then why can’t I just tear it all apart

This cubicle…

It’s gonna break my heart

Author: What Words May Come

Hopeless romantic; joker; father and grandfather; husband; sportsman; part-time writer;

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