It is a weekday morning
The children are not to be seen playing
The roads are filled with people keen
On doing things that keeps them going
From one day to another, without knowing
Why they are doing what they are doing
I spend my time drinking coffee and looking
At the bustling traffic outside, thinking
"I am not like them. Am I?'
I know I am probably worse, just afraid
To join the rat race
Knowing that I cannot survive
Cannot take in all the pain, all the strife
That goes into the making of a normal weekday morning.
The children are not to be seen playing
The roads are filled with people keen
On doing things that keeps them going
From one day to another, without knowing
Why they are doing what they are doing
I spend my time drinking coffee and looking
At the bustling traffic outside, thinking
"I am not like them. Am I?'
I know I am probably worse, just afraid
To join the rat race
Knowing that I cannot survive
Cannot take in all the pain, all the strife
That goes into the making of a normal weekday morning.
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