Oh the joys of work!
Here I sit and act awake,
unconsciousness looms.
Yet I'm to lazy,
it would seem, to make the change.
I must look for more.
There must be something?
Pontificate from the cube,
there is something more!
Teaching and writing,
or sinking in this labyrinth,
I choose to progress.
Yet the dread that spawns,
is realized every day,
by talking half walls.
The silt covered dream,
washes away hope from those,
that dwell where cubes stand.
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