| It started off a routine day
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| I got through the morning in the usual way
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| I caught the bus on time
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| Good morning, Mr. Driver, drive
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| As I sat inside my overcoat I clutched my cane
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| And pressed my nose against the foggy window pane
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| Ho hum
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| The life I lead would even make a dead man yawn
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| Midday comes
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| I break for lunch
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| With my sandwich and a beer I go on a hunch
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| To the park where I hope to find
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| A little bit of peace of mind
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| As I sat there on a bench amidst the rodent race
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| I felt a strange sensation that without a trace appeared
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| But then as quickly disappeared again
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| So tell me what’s the bloody point of playing the game
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| With so much to lose yet so little to gain
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| You sell your life away
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| Can’t you see you’re just a cog working like a dog
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| You trade your future for a dead-end job
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| That’s full of routine days
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| Routine days
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| I race the clock to the end of my day
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| The paycheck in my pocket makes me feel okay
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| But was it worth the grind
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| Just to keep from falling behind
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| I stand here in the queue behind a foul cigar
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| My face discreetly buried in a book on Mars
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| Humdrum
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| And I’m waiting on the pier 'til Charon comes |