"Who k**ed the time?
What's left that's mine"?
Face down in a nation of thieves,
What do you do when you're not on your knees
Drawing out nine to five disease?
(You k** the time, get back in line)
Last of the great team players.
Just payments away from freedom.
Swinging from his neck in a two car garage (oh no, years to go).
Signed out like a company car.
He leaves behind a trail of scars
And a morbid fear of closed-in spaces,
Collared shirts and dying alone.