DEBT SLAVE

Cuffed and collared with a tie around his neck,
A-wake on Monday – mourning his weak-days begins.

Signs away his time on the dotted line,
Is it a sign that this feels like a sin?
As the tick-tock time takes it’s toll on him,
But thats to be expected as he has man-ager.

He’s a staff for ‘the man’ to lean on, in its role of casting spells,
A sentence of pay-per rules, suited for grey suits with grey skin.
At break time he’s already broken,
This occupation occupy’s his mind.
A piece of dead meat in a meeting, meeting and meeting dead lines,
The keyboard, the key to his boredom, but these key’s only unlock a screen,
So he can keep on tapping in those numbers, that numb his mind and his dreams.

Again, and again. 
But what does he gain?
As The clock it cloaks reality, and he loses all the now.
Does he gain more cash?
Cash that flows, the currency? 
Like water slipping through his hands, the current goes to sea, 
Once he’s paid his debt to live, there’s nothing left to see.
You see?