Tomorrow feels like it's years away. And It's just long blank stares and grinding gears between now and then. And all this to stay slightly ahead. And it's just gas station food to get me through. All I have to look forward to.
Cause there are hours that need counted. There are time clocks that need punching. Just this once I'd love to dictate the conversation between what I want and what's gonna happen.
I've been sewn up, I've been sold short. This state I'm in is wearing thin, what I am and what I've been. And my time's all gone, my time's not mine. Monotony's gotten to me, same thing played out repeatedly.
Cause there are hours that need counted. There are time clocks that need punching. Just this once I'd love to dictate the conversation between what I want and what's gonna happen.
And these, these are my prospects. Being broke, tired, and disappointed.