In the toxic crunch of work's latent surge,
We drone on, trapped in a much bigger surge.
Deficit of time, of money, of life,
In this job's toxic strife.

Words become meaningless,
As we toil on endlessly.
Our spirits drained, our souls consumed,
By this job's toxic fume.

But still we persist,
Driven by the need to exist.
In this toxic world's toxic race,
Where time is money, and money is pace.