The Extra Shift

The architecture of the office is a cold
measured cage
I spend the currency of age to fill a hollow page
The sun is a cold concept in a world of LED
I sold the vision of the sky to find a way to be
My pulse is synchronized with every ticker on the wall
I watch the empires of the bank begin to rise and crawl
I missed the icing and the singing and the seven years
I drowned the memory of love within the grinding of the gears
The accumulation of the profit is a heavy
shining weight
I am the lord of my absence and the architect of late

I am the engine of the extra shift
the ghost within the gold
I traded every birthday for a story never told
I am the hunger and the harvest and the profit and the loss
I am the man who nailed his spirit to a heavy
dollar cross