They put the boot in when you are down
They know just where to kick
And it hurts so much more.
Give me a truck on a busy city street.
It’d be so quick
A couple of tons at speed to smash me into darkness.
It’s the slow death
Of a thousand pointless conversations
Of being stuck somewhere you don’t want to be,
Of being in a job for thirty years
And waking up too late to find
The hundred thousand cuts have finally led to your death
That is most painful.
Throw open the window
Climb out and run.
They might say you’re strange
But they didn’t love you to start with.
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