Trapped in the cycle, the eight-to-six cage,
Deadline dominion, fuelling my rage.
Storms rage in my veins, a fury uncontrolled,
Heartbeats thunder, in the void so cold.
Echoes of anger, in the tomb of glass,
The ticking clock mocks, as the spirit falls.
Flames of silent ire, where our dreams decay,
In this hellish mire, we wither away.
In the prison of despair, life's unending gloom,
Cubic walls encase the corporate doom.
The psychological scars, of the daily war,
Invisible battles, wounds bore.
Daily grind, a suffocating hold,
White-collar noose, stories untold.
Burning in the quiet of the mind’s desperate plea,
The chains of clock: the killing spree.
In the grind we decay, in routines we dismay,
Lost souls in the fray, humanity’s disarray.
Crushed by routines, a life dispossessed,
Unprecedented hatred brewed in the chest.
The relentless choir of a life on fire,
Struggling, suffocating in the mire.
Eight to six!
