The fluorescent ceiling buzzes like a dying fly trapped inside a glass jar
Thirty seconds remain until three fifty-five
The air tastes of bleached plastic and cheap cigars
I watch the second hand stutter and finally arrive
He sits inside the glass office scratching his fat greasy chin
Counting my minutes like pennies inside a rusted tin
A pathetic dictator ruling a linoleum floor
I wipe the grease from my hands and walk toward the door
Five stolen minutes ripped from the jaws of the beast
Five bloody minutes where I become the high priest
Of my own miserable goddamn existence
I punch that plastic clock with a violent persistence
Fuck your schedule and your pathetic daily grind
I am walking out early and leaving your corpse behind
He yells from the doorway with saliva upon his lip
Threatening my paycheck with a trembling grip
I turn and give him the finger right to his red face
A beautiful chaotic exit from this sterile hellish place
Every second I steal is a fracture inside his control
I take the time back to resurrect my battered soul
Let the machines grind to a sudden agonizing halt
When the quotas crash down it will be my glorious fault
I step into the harsh afternoon sunlight burning my eyes
Shedding the heavy skin of a hundred corporate lies
Three hundred seconds of absolute total anarchy
A magnificent empty fraction of brutal liberty
The engine turns over with a harsh choking spit
I roll down the window and spit upon the dirt
Leaving that sweating bastard to choke upon his own shit
My stolen five minutes are the only things that hurt
I drive away leaving the factory choking upon its own exhaust
A temporary victory regardless of the final cost