Days moved along
In a brutal, but accurate pace
I felt every minute
Every hour
And I wore it all on my face
These wrinkles and gray hairs
have become the war paint of our kind
The W2 tribe
Working so hard
But still so far behind
Forty hours a week
Then rinse and repeat
Pay check to paycheck
just to make the ends meet
Then when you make them meet
you can have two days off
Maybe stretch it to three, if you can fake a good cough
