After all these days of rest?
That maybe this is the life for me,
If only society demanded less!
I'd pour my heart out for my deepest desires,
That for others would be a toil of hate.
I guess that work is not denied me,
But it's not handed on a silver plate.
With tastes so varied, I wonder how it won't work,
That life can't be maintained both in flesh and spirit.
Maybe it's greed, but I'm sure that's in the minority,
And this is a Democracy, ain't it?
But it's alright,
I can't put all the blame at others' feet.
There are more than eight hours in a day,
And I've only used them to beat a retreat.
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