the suit

i watch him go to work each day
his briefcase in his hand
i wonder does he leave his mark
does he make a stand

when lights are out and doors are locked
does anyone know he’s been there
when books are closed and pens are dry
does anybody care

“i do” a voice cries from within
“i’m not just another suit,
this work’s not easy every day
not every man could take this route”

at night he sits, computer bound
his fingers buttons push
his mind the wheel his thoughts the tape
that calculate the truth

tomorrow he will walk again
but i know where he’s (you’ve) been
and the passions of a dreamy man
sit home and wait
for him

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