Death Of A Salesman

this is the final countdown
the hands on the clock,
have become the hands upon
your throat
take a hard look, at your time card
add up all the hours,
the weeks, the months, and years
think of all the time that you've sold away
of all the smiles, laughter, and passion
you've left behind
one of many, you file into lines
your hopes and dreams diminished,
is it worth what your being given?
can all the moments torn away ever be replaced?
is the one life you've been given,
all going to waste?
success is meaningless if you've sold your soul to
accomplish it All the money in the world won't be
able to lift this weight from your chest
this is the final countdown
the hands on the clock,
become the hands on your throat (x4)
neckties, are like a subtle noose
hanging from the gallows,
swaying in the winds of progress
a lifetime of subservience,
swept away by this,
hurricane of deception
one of many, you file into lines
your hopes and dreams diminished,
is it worth what your being given?
can all the moments torn away ever be replaced?
is the one life you've been given,
all going to waste?
the hands on the clock,
are the hands on your throat (x4)