We put on our work face; it's time to arise.
We can't just remain in our weekend disguise.
Our minds look for answers from people we know,
So, we can keep up with our own status quo.
This constant awareness can make things bizarre.
Are we really certain which person we are?
The mode of our thinking and face that we wear;
When we are not working, they haven't a care.

When working with others, some tension appears;
Does nothing to quell all our doubts and our fears.
We aren't in control of decisions we make,
Or, all the emotions that we've had to fake.
Our cubicle prisons have photos of kids;
The kids we can't visit because work forbids.
And, then on the weekends, we're always on call.
Our families always get left with the ball.

Don't know the solution; we're living by rote.
This job is enough, and, will keep us afloat.
It really is cruel just how we are used;
Abused, and not paid for the overtime blues.
Afraid to grow wings for the fear of unknown;
Infusing that fear into every bone.
Employers encourage this feeling of dread;
Expendable cogs will not get them ahead.

Perhaps, we are madmen with egos destroyed;
We fear that our bosses won't keep us employed.