Working Man

Portrait of a working man,
Struggling through the day.
Listening to the bosses,
He hardly has a say.

Nine to five if only so,
He'd be happy now.
Hours piling on themselves,
Vacation you say......how.

No chance to experiment,
Finding who you are.
Mortgage payment due today.
Likewise for the car.

He toils for his family.
He feels it is his lot.
Every day a torture.
All battles are well fought.

No chance to self explore,
He'll leave that to the rich.
The money so important,
He can't afford an itch.

Living for the weekend,
He makes it through each day.
Trying to remember,
Why he has to stay.

And 20 years have passed him by,
The hair is getting gray.
The bills are just the same as was.
Why can he not play.

For he's a Working Man you know.
It's all about the strife.
He'll put in time until he's dead.
That's his lot in life.

When he dies, a family cries,
And wonders what it meant.
That this poor soul could not enjoy,
What heaven surely sent.