| Silent room, hundred strong, some hearing distant Muzak
|
| It’s setting the mood
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| Tedium here, in his cubicle, he’s doing his work
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| The same thing daily
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| Papers and forms, staring, concentrating on the ledger
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| No room for error
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| Hours on end, takes a dogged man of great endurance
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| And nobody knows
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| Nobody will speak a word, at least no speaking out loud
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| No note-comparing, no jokes told, it’s just not allowed
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| No one lines up to see the numbing endless toil and grind
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| It takes so much not to snap, not to lose your mind
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| Here’s some white noise for you
|
| For your car and or cubicle
|
| Music, meds and white noise
|
| Ease the pressure down in the crucible
|
| This is the world, you and your job in your space with your data
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| Your files and flow charts
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| And your 10 minute break, nobody knows, nobody cares
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| But you know, you know what you are
|
| Today’s frontier man herding, taming an unending paper flood
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| Guarding the fort from disaster for your people
|
| The brotherhood of tedium in your Spartan chair
|
| A hero for our time in the stale office air
|
| Here’s some white noise for you
|
| For your car and or cubicle
|
| Music and meds and the white noise
|
| Ease the pressure down in the crucible
|
| Will the drugs help? |
| A little music? |
| Isometrics
|
| White noise, white noise in your pod, relaxing white noise |