“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.