It is always something,
Something that rains on your parade.
We should bottle it as the mist of doom,
It is there always like the elephant in the room.
You want to say something to your manager or boss,
But you know there is no win, just your voice going hoarse.
And so you make it through another day with little to say, let them have it there way.
Silent I go into the night of despair, thorns in my side and hiding the fact that I do care.
But years have tempted this raging spirit that want to take the job and shove it to hell.
And I take it on the chin and go on my brain clouded with the sounds of disparaging bells.