They say the sky is bright and clear,
They say it's nice -- just beautiful,
I wouldn't know if that is true,
Since I'm stuck inside my cubicle.
I bet the birds are belting out,
Tunes so bright and musical,
But noise and joy are not allowed,
Here in my dang cubicle.
Fluorescent lights, computer screen,
Word, Power Point and email,
Printer, chair and hopelessness,
That's what makes a cubicle.
At lunch, some people dine outside,
Getting a big belly full,
But all I have's a Lean Cuisine,
And gray walls of a cubicle.
I nuke my food in the kitchenette,
It smells like fish and pizza rolls,
I head back to eat all by myself,
In my sad, pathetic cubicle.
There's the pictures in their frames,
The husband, kids -- all typical,
I don't see them much because,
I'm always in a cubicle.
I'd rather be somewhere with them,
Instead of this here prison cell,
I'd like to see the sun again,
And get out of my cubicle.
It could be worse, I could be broke,
And hooked on pharmaceuticals,
I'd have no job, no home, no cash,
If I didn't have a cubicle.
So here I sit inside cloth walls,
Vigilant, and so dutiful,
I'm on the clock, I do my job,
In my depressing cubicle.
I'm not alone, I know for fact,
My plight is not unusual,
Countless others spend their days,
In motherfucking cubicles.
