“Work is so good for the soul” they said

as I stacked stupid shelves for a wage.

“You’re young, and you can doing anything,”

they said, as I watched myself age.

 

And so it went on for many a year

of back-breaking, soul-crushing crap.

I worked for the man, I worked for myself

no, nothing was thrown in my lap.

 

One day I moved from workhorse to sloth

to afford my poor body a rest

and now I’m that person, I’m dreaming of work

yes, life is ironic at best.