All day, every day, I work, work, work
On the train, at the office, at home in my bed
Work, work, work on my mind, the only thought in my head
The night turns to day, and the day turns to night
I work, work, work, with no end to work anywhere in sight
The whys of my work are difficult to answer
So I suppress them with force, as I would the knowledge of having cancer
All day, every day, I work, work, work
No time for the others, so they believe I’m a jerk
No time for passion or a love that could be
As work consumes every moment, slowly becoming me
What I’m afraid of and what I try to hide
Is the part of myself that I thought committed suicide
The part of myself that used to be me
The vulnerable one now hidden, no longer free
All day, every day, I work, work, work
Inching closer to death, to be buried in the dirt
Leon's Existential Cafe 