Thursday

Falling from the top floor your lungs fill like parachutes windows go rushing by.
The people inside they're dressed for the funeral in black and white.
These ties strangle our necks hanging in the closet filed in the cubicle without a name just numbers on the resume stored in the mainframe marked for delete.
Please take these hands throw them in the river wash away the things they never held.
Please take these hands throw me in the river but dont let me drown before the workday ends.
NINE TO FIVE
And we're up to our necks drowning in the seconds ingesting your morning commute lost in the dead Subway-sleep.
Now we lie wide awake in our parents beds tossing and turning tomorrow we'll get up drive to work single file with everyday just like the last: waiting for the life to start.
It's always just ahead of the curve...
Please take these hands throw them in the river wash away the things they never held.
Please take these hands throw me in the river but dont let me drown before the workday ends.
Just keep making copies of copies of copies.