Alarm goes off, 6 a.m.,
One more day and then weekend.
Dressed in the office uniform,
Hairbrushes, all shape and form.
Through the door, and cross the street,
While I was trying to make up time,
Buy the ticket, squeeze on the train,
Eyes fixed firmly on the windowpane.
Repeat again…
Chorus:
You live inside this machine,
Nothing ever slows down.
The slate will always wipe clean,
You seem to make up crown.
Alarm goes off, 5 p.m.,
Before the after-work wind down.
No one’s gonna hang around,
Target failure to the drown.
A bottle spirits sinking fast,
Another one rising at last.
The self assured never scar,
Their pride will heal with comp pending car.
Chorus:
You live inside this machine,
Nothing ever slows down.
But the slate will always wipe clean,
You seem to make up crown.
Make up, make up crown,
Make up crown…