fauxcroft

Tic toc around the clock

We have to work it never stops,

Putting money in the rich man’s pocket

Grateful and for the wage at the end of it,

Tic toc life passes us by

The slaves working on the production line,

Zombified and like machines

We churn out products seen on TV,

Never see the blood, sweat and toil

Of the exploited who are seen no more as

Cogs in the chain running the line,

Often working in shit and grime

Waiting for the siren signalling it’s home time,

Dark when you came in, dark when you go home

That is all we’ve ever known,

Tic toc this is out life

No other choice but to sacrafice,

Our souls to the corporate production line

And it cuts so deep just like a knife,

Work all day, sleep all night

Repeat this again, left, right, left, right,

March to time and the constant tic toc

Of the internal clock.