It has the world surging at its fingertips,
so lost in the movement,
their gazes stay down,
their lips locked
as the paper flutters by.
With tired eyes,
the small things in life,
become pure bliss.
An exchange takes place through the pigeon hole,
they pass me the black liquid,
enclosed in a neat cardboard cup,
I hold it in my hands, mm.
I love that smell,
the fuel that drives
the machine.
They wave me off
& thank me by name,
a personal touch,
to this anonymous game.
We wear uniforms by day,
that must be ironed out at night,
for if those shirts have any creases,
you would look a disheveled sight!
I quite enjoy this dress up game,
even though we all look exactly the same.
Looking smart has an effect,
it makes you feel together
& grants you respect.
But sometimes I do wonder,
whether these collars are buttoned up
too
tight.
And maybe it's stopping us from being able to breathe alright?
What if one day,
you wake up in the middle of the night,
gasping for air,
looking for the light.
You see your position,
in this repetitive dream
& you no longer wish
to be a part of the machine...
As you sit amongst the breathless,
surging forward yet feeling stuck,
you can feel a storm brewing,
it is beginning in your gut.
Your gaze snaps up to their faces,
they stare down at their screens,
you try to change direction,
shifting away from mainstream.
But now you're moving against the current,
you're blocking the flow,
there's no one to follow...
where would you go?
Outside of the station stands a tall,
oak tree,
still and unmoving,
perfect stability.
They continue walking passed,
picking up the pace,
for there is no time to slow down
in this incessant rat race.
From the weak day
to the weak end
your mind's beginning to falter,
you feel it beginning to bend...
Despite being granted those 2 days of rest,
it is beginning to prove hard to stand the test
of patience,
of submission,
to the daily grind.
You have looked up now,
you have made up your mind.
You desire free movement and change,
creativity begins to unearth the strange.
So you follow that urge,
and slowly beat the surge,
falling out of the main stream,
into open water
It is still and unmoving,
like the old oak tree,
you have reconnected
and found your stability...
The storm has passed,
and now it's time,
to swim.
so lost in the movement,
their gazes stay down,
their lips locked
as the paper flutters by.
With tired eyes,
the small things in life,
become pure bliss.
An exchange takes place through the pigeon hole,
they pass me the black liquid,
enclosed in a neat cardboard cup,
I hold it in my hands, mm.
I love that smell,
the fuel that drives
the machine.
They wave me off
& thank me by name,
a personal touch,
to this anonymous game.
We wear uniforms by day,
that must be ironed out at night,
for if those shirts have any creases,
you would look a disheveled sight!
I quite enjoy this dress up game,
even though we all look exactly the same.
Looking smart has an effect,
it makes you feel together
& grants you respect.
But sometimes I do wonder,
whether these collars are buttoned up
too
tight.
And maybe it's stopping us from being able to breathe alright?
What if one day,
you wake up in the middle of the night,
gasping for air,
looking for the light.
You see your position,
in this repetitive dream
& you no longer wish
to be a part of the machine...
As you sit amongst the breathless,
surging forward yet feeling stuck,
you can feel a storm brewing,
it is beginning in your gut.
Your gaze snaps up to their faces,
they stare down at their screens,
you try to change direction,
shifting away from mainstream.
But now you're moving against the current,
you're blocking the flow,
there's no one to follow...
where would you go?
Outside of the station stands a tall,
oak tree,
still and unmoving,
perfect stability.
They continue walking passed,
picking up the pace,
for there is no time to slow down
in this incessant rat race.
From the weak day
to the weak end
your mind's beginning to falter,
you feel it beginning to bend...
Despite being granted those 2 days of rest,
it is beginning to prove hard to stand the test
of patience,
of submission,
to the daily grind.
You have looked up now,
you have made up your mind.
You desire free movement and change,
creativity begins to unearth the strange.
So you follow that urge,
and slowly beat the surge,
falling out of the main stream,
into open water
It is still and unmoving,
like the old oak tree,
you have reconnected
and found your stability...
The storm has passed,
and now it's time,
to swim.
