It's all wrinkled elbow shirts and poker faces on
this bus

Back to a nitch dug just like a ditch in this
city's weathered crust

But there's something about this city's grey

That seems to say all there is to say

Riddled with regiment, vindictive intent

Faking loyalty and getting paid

Fuck them all.

She keeps the variety section and gives the rest
to me

She says she remembers when buses were nicer

There's no dignity in plastic seats

But there's something about the way she said

The only good boss is one that's dead

There broad shoulders giggled all over the bus

And work ethics crumbled into them and us

Fuck them all.

And all the specters of the work place

Turned from effigy back to reality

And yeach I wish it was that simple

To think a belly laugh is really all we need

But it's the slow decay of the day to day

That says take your pay check, accept your place

And face away

But there was dignity in plastic seats that day.