To sit in a suit Trimmed and pressed By the hands of those You would never get to know And to read your papers That don’t really make sense And evaluate oddities That you probably should know.
To fix yourself a drink And give yourself a smoke When problems arise That can’t be solved By your secretarial mistress Or her typing skills.
To eye your lower men And see their grimaced faces Struggling to serve your powers To feed their families While you fatten yours With the fruits of their labor.
To notice the holes The dents in your wealth And to locate your peers And congregate for discussion Over whose head to roll For your own mistakes And over whose piece of bread Will be taken away.
To find that man A fine yet lacking man With a mother at home And a family to feed With a bill to pay And a debt to owe That simple young man With a heart of gold But a brain of lead That weights and drags Your own wealth down.
And to say to that man Whose life you’ve not known: “You’ll go without your piece of bread And your children will know That you won’t bring home The things that your wife married you for And you’ll never be whole And never rise up But clear your desk And we’ll send you your check It’s nothing personal: It’s just business.”
To watch as he leaves With his lead head limp As he asks himself why He must starve and deprive The only things he’s loved From their piece of bread For his own carelessness; His own foolish head.
To gorge yourself On this extra bread And to never think twice Of that poor young man Or the meals he won’t see And the children he can’t feed.
And to lay your head down On your crisp linen sheets And the end of the day Of crushing and burning While your lead-headed man Weights himself down From a rope you weaved When you left him without His piece of bread.