Lying if he said he wouldn’t do anything
to keep it back around right now.
Plays board games by himself,
skips right past all the candy.
Finds boredom in bunches of people.
Turns up tunes and stays in.
Why talk about work?
How about, how was today in the cubicle?
You should do this in the cubicle.
Happy, but that heart’s not nearby.
Like an old song brings ten tears to each eye.
Throwing some rock on a wheel.
Spinning stops, slice, sponge, shelf, don’t steal.
Some time before they light up their fire.
Sings songs he’ll never write,
jumps right through the melodies.
Like lackluster lunches, those people.
Turns up tunes and stays in.
Why talk about work?
How about, how’d you do that in the cubicle?
Something’s too loud in the cubicle.
Flying when he said he couldn’t do it again.
Left ground, living down and way out.
Sings, some songs come back around.
Can’t hear that in the cubicle.
Need new things in the cubicle.
Where’d he go? Other cubicle?
Stay a little longer in your cubicle.
Please do this in the cubicle today.
this is your life chuck johnson 