The Working Dead

My 5 o’clock shadow is running in the opposite direction
From where I go to kneel down to the saint of 4th quarter projections
It’s a heavy handed letdown
Working for a watch when time is running out
I’m counting every second down
Cause I let too many pass me by (still can’t find a reason why)

Everybody’s racing for the red light
Chained to a desk and chasing deadlines
I’m not slaving for a pension but an early grave
I’m the working dead for minimum wage

A nod at the front desk
A smoke with the boys on the loading dock
Then back into the warehouse to catalogue the bar codes and the back stock
I wonder if they see me?
I wonder if they notice me at all
The phantom of the stock room
Another faceless shadow in these halls
Death by a thousand conference calls