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There are those for whom life is nothing but work,
Killing themselves over their financial gain;
Playing kiss-ass to a boss who’s a jerk,
Then hoarding dollars in case it should rain.

Working up ulcers and popping down pills,
Taking regimens – God knows what for –
They rack up those heavenly medical bills,
Then they run out and kill themselves more.

Day into week turns to month into year,
Chewing up credit, they work even harder.
Living on caffeine and dying of fear,
One would hope that they’d be getting smarter.

As they finally see wrinkles, recount their time
And wonder what happened to living,
They notice that each minute making a dime
Was a minute they could have spent giving.

By then it’s too late, yet one more wasted life
And they turn for consolement from spouse,
(If lucky, they’ve managed two kids and a wife)
But they’re no longer in the same house!

Alone and forgotten they sit in their chairs
As they drink up and think about how;
“Why didn’t I notice life going on here,
while I was so busy tracking the Dow?!?”

And when those sad people are buried and gone.
Leaving nothing but this work tradition,
The old generation hands slavery on
To a crop with yet more ambition!

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