It is the ritual of the day for some many out there in the land of man,
We head for the throne of our kingdom, the percaline can.
There we empty the poisons which sat in our bodies through the night,
We sit or stand there, a rather awkward stance to rid us of plight.
Refreshed we do our rituals of brushing our teeth and hair,
Returned to the bedroom to cloth ourselves with care,
And then to the kitchen to coffee to wake up our mind,
Put on the television to see the news and revolt at the evil of mankind.
Off to work we go with a whistle of glee,
To the office we go, our extended family there to see,
The drama of the office life or other jobs,
We are antiquated by our work just like old watch fobs.
Then we wait until the finishing bell,
Back to our life of leisure in our homes, our souls do swell.
The rituals of life, played out each day,
The two days off is when we are allowed to play.
Is it a trap like the Maze or the road to hell in Mad Max?
Is it the routine playing out our life’s as we never really relax?
We work for money and then pay the piper named Bill,
We spend it on many a foolish thing and sometimes a thrill,
But in the end we all end up in the same place,
A footnote to our common life of banality, a footnote on the human race.