E.A Rumfield
10-28-2012, 01:53 AM
“Sorry honey, I have to go. You know how important my job is, I love you.”
“I feel like I don't even know you anymore.”
Out the door he went, much too busy for death. Coffee cup in hand, key that starts the car before you get in. Backing out of the driveway, much too busy for death. Leave a message with my secretary and I'll try to squeeze you in somewhere between here and my next million. On the expressway experiencing symptoms of road rage. When are these *******s going to learn to drive? Much too busy for almost everything. When was the last time you opened your window and listened to the birds sing in the trees? Much too busy for that, only time to make your money and spend it.
Much too busy for death, doing 80 plus as you escape into the open. The only time you feel free. Time stops and you just think. These thoughts don't last long, no nothing lasts forever but for now you think. What am I doing? Is this worth it? Everybody told you get a good job and make lots of money that is the key to happiness. But you don't feel happy at least you don't think so. If you were honest with yourself you'd say you don't feel much of anything any longer. You've succumb to a robotic life. No room for change no room for hope. Snap back. No time for hammerheads who can't drive.
Much too busy shifting back into third gear, going to be late for work and the introspection ends. But you always wanted to learn an instrument and a language. See a foreign country see them all but someone told you settle down with a beautiful wife. Make sure she can cook and have a kid or two, that and money make a happy life. But you don't love your wife do you and she doesn't love you. Not anymore anyway. And she doesn't cook as well or as often and she is stressed out with your children. You both are. She, not the mother you thought she would be. She blames them for stealing her good looks and youth. And you do as well. Remember how beautiful you thought she was when you first saw her feeding your child, and now? Absent, gunning the finely crafted engine as you spot daylight.
Back into the open as you think how you're going to be late for work. “But baby I get this promotion we'll have everything we've every wanted.” But she doesn't care about the money, not any longer. Money can't buy back her looks and she blames you for stealing those years from her. You. You boring stupid man. You stole your youth from yourself. You'll never climb the Andes or the Alps or stroll the Champs Elysee. No, never going to watch the sunrise on another continent in another hemisphere. The biggest adventure now is Chinese or Italian, “Would you like a shot of espresso in your coffee sir? It is only a $1.50 more.” “Make it a double.”
Oh you fool, you cowering fool. You let your life slip through your fingers and for what a few bucks. Was I ever alive, you think now as, the blood runs cold through your veins. Cold, like thinking of death or that time in the woods when you looked up into the night and not a star in the sky. Cold like the toilet seats at work. Cold like the eyes of that new temp but what an ***.
Slow down as you exit the expressway. Look at all those young fresh faces. Quick step, sharp confident. Wait till life kicks you right in the loins. It might not seem so bad at first. You get over it try to get up but it just kicks you back down. Eventually you get tired of getting up. Think of all those men and women living their lives on the ground. At least its safe down there when the bullets start flying and when the house is on fire.
Think about all the *******s at work talking about fantasy football. How do you go in there everyday? Didn't you used to think you were better than that? You used to want to write a book. You could write it about all this but the only thing that could be more boring than your life would be writing about it. So you just go on. Play the game fake it. It is better to be alive somewhere than dead, but you're already dead, as your blood runs cold like a winter night in your first apartment, you just don't know it yet.
Much too busy for death, leave an message with my secretary. Much too busy you didn't even see that car as it hit you right on the driver side door.
“I feel like I don't even know you anymore.”
Out the door he went, much too busy for death. Coffee cup in hand, key that starts the car before you get in. Backing out of the driveway, much too busy for death. Leave a message with my secretary and I'll try to squeeze you in somewhere between here and my next million. On the expressway experiencing symptoms of road rage. When are these *******s going to learn to drive? Much too busy for almost everything. When was the last time you opened your window and listened to the birds sing in the trees? Much too busy for that, only time to make your money and spend it.
Much too busy for death, doing 80 plus as you escape into the open. The only time you feel free. Time stops and you just think. These thoughts don't last long, no nothing lasts forever but for now you think. What am I doing? Is this worth it? Everybody told you get a good job and make lots of money that is the key to happiness. But you don't feel happy at least you don't think so. If you were honest with yourself you'd say you don't feel much of anything any longer. You've succumb to a robotic life. No room for change no room for hope. Snap back. No time for hammerheads who can't drive.
Much too busy shifting back into third gear, going to be late for work and the introspection ends. But you always wanted to learn an instrument and a language. See a foreign country see them all but someone told you settle down with a beautiful wife. Make sure she can cook and have a kid or two, that and money make a happy life. But you don't love your wife do you and she doesn't love you. Not anymore anyway. And she doesn't cook as well or as often and she is stressed out with your children. You both are. She, not the mother you thought she would be. She blames them for stealing her good looks and youth. And you do as well. Remember how beautiful you thought she was when you first saw her feeding your child, and now? Absent, gunning the finely crafted engine as you spot daylight.
Back into the open as you think how you're going to be late for work. “But baby I get this promotion we'll have everything we've every wanted.” But she doesn't care about the money, not any longer. Money can't buy back her looks and she blames you for stealing those years from her. You. You boring stupid man. You stole your youth from yourself. You'll never climb the Andes or the Alps or stroll the Champs Elysee. No, never going to watch the sunrise on another continent in another hemisphere. The biggest adventure now is Chinese or Italian, “Would you like a shot of espresso in your coffee sir? It is only a $1.50 more.” “Make it a double.”
Oh you fool, you cowering fool. You let your life slip through your fingers and for what a few bucks. Was I ever alive, you think now as, the blood runs cold through your veins. Cold, like thinking of death or that time in the woods when you looked up into the night and not a star in the sky. Cold like the toilet seats at work. Cold like the eyes of that new temp but what an ***.
Slow down as you exit the expressway. Look at all those young fresh faces. Quick step, sharp confident. Wait till life kicks you right in the loins. It might not seem so bad at first. You get over it try to get up but it just kicks you back down. Eventually you get tired of getting up. Think of all those men and women living their lives on the ground. At least its safe down there when the bullets start flying and when the house is on fire.
Think about all the *******s at work talking about fantasy football. How do you go in there everyday? Didn't you used to think you were better than that? You used to want to write a book. You could write it about all this but the only thing that could be more boring than your life would be writing about it. So you just go on. Play the game fake it. It is better to be alive somewhere than dead, but you're already dead, as your blood runs cold like a winter night in your first apartment, you just don't know it yet.
Much too busy for death, leave an message with my secretary. Much too busy you didn't even see that car as it hit you right on the driver side door.