My day goes slower than the train rolls by the only road to my home when I’ve worked late. Now I’m looking toward the sideline, taking all your guidelines, tossing them away. My conscience is getting so obnoxious, we’re not on speaking terms until it shapes up. Quitting is an active thing, passivity is employing, I’ll show you what an action hero’s really made of.
Fifty-one, forty-nine, better pick one side of the line. Through all sorrows and delight, don’t push me, I will bite.
My cubicle keeps me safe from human view so I can work my Rubic’s Cube free from prying eyes. My passion is being counteractive, jamming up the faxes, being drunk by five. I only speak the truth, the sky is blue and so are you, so I have made you carrot cake. I used cream cheese, I know it always makes you sneeze, but that means all the more for me, now that’s a lucky break.
Here’s Ashley, looking like a lesser Gatsby, rolling up a fatty in toilet paper. Makes me wake and have a taste-y, a little shake n’ bake-sy, or his feelings get hurt. I’ve slept plenty, it’s already four-twenty, I shouldn’t be so sedimentary lying on the floor. I take a drag of Ashley’s stick of magma and feel more igneous than the second just before.