An Ode to the Worker

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An Ode to the Worker

Yet without them, where would this world be? Their sweat and their toil provides for our very needs!

Deadlines, timelines, die Lines, waiting in Line, killing time, texting, typing, printing, sorting. Another line, more lost time, tie too tight, shirt not right, ate too much for lunch, that’s my hunch.

Shops close up, their keepers count their pay; What the morrow may bring, no one can quite say.

Time for clean-up, time to make straight; Hurry, make fast, we shan’t not be late!

Day after day, the process repeats; But its work must be done if they'll be food to eat, and bills to pay. The life of a worker lacks freedom to play.

A job’s a job today, times are tough that way extra hours with no extra pay but the worker who's sweat is drawn and well earned; Will not be lost when the fire shall burn.

While the suits and the moguls count their vast pay; Their fortunes are not but wind in the hay.

The work is hard the pay is small so, take your time and sod ‘em all, Cause when you’re dead you’ll be forgot so, don’t try, and do the bloody lot.

If you work and do your best, you’ll get the sack like all the rest but if you laze and bugger about, you’ll live to see the job right out.

The day's drawing close, farewell to the sun. Bustle of day ends with work still to be done. While CEO’s keep setting goals, keeping us trapped within our holes, there went me shut my mouth and know my role.

Now hang in there – before you know it retirement will be calling you, for time goes by fast. Or, on your tombstone, neatly lacquered these three words:

“JUST BLEEDING KNACKERED”