James hides his hangovers well.
Well he has them so often, most days you can’t tell.
In his cube at the office hangs his college degree.
From the school where he learned to drink.
Down the hall at the front desk, Janice answers phones.
Oh she seems so content; you’d never know that at least once a day she cries on her break.
They promise that promotion is still on its way, until then at the front desk she stays.
So here we go this is our secret.
Here’s what we do in our free time.
Lots of drugs lots of drinking.
On the weekends we’re fucked.
So don’t tell our neighbors or bosses, don’t tell our kids or our spouses.
This isn’t real this is fight club.
Chris was an artist in school, now he wears long sleeve shirts to hide his tattoos.
He works software all day, and gets high every night.
Now for Chris the world’s more black and white.
Mr. Martin’s the boss, and his office is large.
He’s got tall wooden shelves that hold his awards.
New hires are told, they’ll be him when they’re old but he knows that they’ll never run this company he built.
And his paycheck weighs more than his guilt.
We spent four years on expensive coasters, now we rest our drinks on useless diplomas.
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