The Grind
Typing laboriously,
Mentally, feverish and high.
Twenty-four hours,
All pain and no sleep.
Smoking a cigarette,
A swig of Jack to do the trick.
I've got to do everything
Just to get somewhere.
Feels like I'm on a wheel,
It's the grind, so I hear.
Perspiring and shedding tears
For all my fucking years here.
And what do I get for this?
A pin for being sane?
Seems like all I ever do
Is run away from running out of time.
Feels like I'm on this schpiel,
It's the grind, so I'm told.
Lowering its clutches on me,
Those bastards wanted it yesterday.
Clock keeps tickin', tockin',
I ain't ever given enough time.
I just want to say to you people
The grind has me feeling fright,
Ad infinitum.
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