Work... Buy... Consume... Die...
Every day I go to work, behind my desk look like a jerk
My uniform a corporate suit, hair cut like a new recruit
Robots in our little spaces, endless line of human faces
This aint how I saw my life, born to work - work to die
If idle hands are the devil's tools, I'll sell my soul
If idle hands are the devil's tools, I'll sell my soul
Every day stuck in my car, the pressure building up too far
I feel the tension in my chest, I think that I need a rest
I don't go on holiday, I get more stress when I'm away
The pressure building up and up and up and up and...
If idle hands are the devil's tools, I'll sell my soul
If idle hands are the devil's tools, I'll sell my soul
I'll sleep when I'm dead
Make someone rich instead
Put work before my life
Hate my kids, resent my wife
A bottled holiday
To cork the tension one more day
Just work and don't look back
Dead at my desk of a heart attack
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