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Gondola

de Richard Dawson

Open your eyes, time to wake up
Shit, shower, brush your teeth, drain your cup
Wolf down a bowl of Ready-Brek
Fasten a tie around your neck

All over the city we arise, arise
For a job we despise, despise, despise

I don't want to go into work this morning
I don't think I can deal with the wrath of the general public
And I don't have the heart to explain to another poor soul
Why it is their Disability Living Allowance will be stopping shortly

Busfulls of meat slumped in our seats
Staring at phone screens and our own feet
Shuffling off at the business park
Let's linger awhile in the smoking bubble

From every direction we arrive, arrive
With a swipe of the fob, the fob, the fob, the fob

I don't want to go back to that seething viper's nest
I can't listen anymore to the bleating of the terminally depressed
Or the stream of opinions from the creep in the office next to mine
I dream of bashing his skull into a brainy pulp with a Sellotape dispenser

In the staff room, lost in a daze
Shovelling crisps into my face
After an unspeakably awful
Call with a grieving mother

In Wetherspoons on the fruit-machines
Sinking my umpteenth Peroni
Cackling like a hyena
At the nasty jokes of my colleagues
None of whom I can stand

In my bed, I can hear the strangled voices
Of all the people I've failed, I've failed, I've failed

I don't want to go into work this morning
I just want to lie here and play the new Call of Duty
I finally gathered the courage to ring in sick

I'm not coming into work today
I'm really ill
Not coming into work today
Or for that matter any other day

I'm sick to my soul
I refuse to do this dirty work anymore
I refuse, refuse, refuse, refuse
Refuse, refuse, refuse

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