Take a journey into a day in my life,
Dullness and fatigue are scattered throughout,
My arid desk job burns me as I sit,
And the paper I make is thrown straight in a pit,

George Washington was due times ten last month,
But my son was sick with flu,
But I must remember, that this all is nothing new,

How can I give you my money when my hands are as bare as my back?
I have debt and needs and no time for greed, thinking of things I lack,

This oxygen must be killing me,
Each day as I suck it in,
And my brow wrinkles with worry as my son becomes so thin,
This life I have been given, has escaped the heart in me,
My eyes cannot be opened, therefore I'll never see.