The Joy Of Work

The morning rush, the endless fight, The crowded trains, the endless blight. The traffic jams, the honking cars, Commuting to work, a daily scar.

The clock ticks on, the minutes fly, The journey long, the hours sigh. The world outside, a blur of grey, A prison cell, on our way.

The sun may rise, the birds may sing, But all we feel is tiredness cling. The sights and sounds, a misery own, A reminder of life, we'd rather be alone.

So let us curse the joys of commuting, The journey to work, a daily loathing. For in the chaos, we find no rhythm, And in the monotony, our spirit is numbed.

Limited Edition