Work! (Future Perfect)

Life is Work!
That's what they say.
I scribbled all over the back
Of the proof of my pay.

I was singin' it's work.
And that's work til you die.
Go on, make that dollar for somebody else
Maybe they'll hand you a dime.

Oh, it's an endless degradation.
It's a hundred thousand little lacerations
The payoff of which couldn't fit
On any check that anyone could conceivably cut
Oh, and you bleed, and you bleed and you bleed
And the earth just laps it up.

Oh Work!
You're why I still smoke!
And I gotta drink beer at the end of the day,
Cos I gotta cope

Oh, with all of the Work!
That I suffer through
What they say is the Truth,
And that I should be thankful to do

Oh but they will mock us and they will mistreat us
Til they can replace us all with an app or a kiosk
And apathy is the natural byproduct
Of being exhausted and sick all the time
So don't tell me that working like this
Is the meaning of life.

So yeah, I Work!
But I try not to be defined
By what gets me paid
For an hour of my time

Cos it's just a means to an ending
And all of the energy that I end up expending
I will get it back in spades
When the systems that necessitate
All of this Work!
Fall apart
And we can work for ourselves for a change!

So we gotta Work!
Cos none of our visions
Of a better tomorrow
Will come to fruition

Without a whole lot of Work!
And that's all there is to it
So, God Dammit,
I guess that we gotta do it!

Oh but that looks like
So many things
That these economics
They could never conceive
Of all of our value
Or measure our worth
No, I will not let them tell me
What it means to do Work!