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Jun 2014
Myriad of distasteful smells
Grease and mold and rot
I hold my breath and walk
Along the lonely hot blacktop
I can't stop, I can't stop
I'm already running late

Past the towering gate of cedar
Into a human sea
Weaving through groups
Of preteen girls
Dressed like they're twenty three
Under the twisting orange rails
And past the elder train
I can't talk, I can't talk
I'm already running late

Through the courtyard of the wolf
Beyond the bubbling fount
Near the infinite tidal wave
Pass between the pillars
And now I'm at the gate
Step inside the hovel
This is where my work begins
I can't walk, I can't walk
My legs are spent for a bit

Then I man my battle station
I'm ready for the rush
Six hours later still on my feet
They start to feel like mush
My arms are heavy my eyelids sag
And my back begins to ache
My voice is sore my mind is numb
But I don't get a break
I can't stop, I can't stop
I'm working for my pay

Another dollar, another day
You know I'm working for my pay
My job has its ups and downs.
Loren W Ebeling Esq
Written by
Loren W Ebeling Esq  Minnesota
(Minnesota)   
585
 
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