a sturdy douse of dirty reality
reems me and leaves me tossed from fantasy

as i travel tattered babbling ballads
the economies malice shatters my talent

fitful dreams of baby screams echo in my sleep
a somber 'beep' awakens me before i fall to deep

three weeks no slumber not a name but a number
lack of funds has my wallets face long and somber

it's a slow paced race to the finish
where the victor is the loser lost in societies menace

9 to 5 6 to 6 twenty four hours a day
barely awake i work a sweat for a slave wage

it's a struggle in this lost land of tyranny
cynically i willingly break my body diligently

imagine if you could slinging steel for hours at end
this rat couldn't give back if god really was a friend

and so on i continue with the strength of none
this loaded code of work ethic set upon me by birth of a son

the finish line is near but the path becomes blurry
it's hard to find the meaning of life when you're in such a hurry