A Working Complaint

It's been a hard day's night,
And I've been working like a dog,
So sang those Scouse Beatles,
Maybe they wrote in a fog?

Every day the radio wakes me at seven,
And up and out I get,
Into the shower and down for toast,
Get ready for work, get ready, get set.

Is it me or can it be a life,
Like mice in an eternal wheel?
Stop, stop, I wanna get off,
This can't be it; this can't be for real.

I get to work and do my bit,
But it never, ever seems enough,
My boss calls to see what's what,
After a while she starts to get gruff.

The figures aren't there, just not enough sales
Why aren't you doing more?
I'm trying, I'm trying and everyone else is too,
We're trying so hard we're sore.

If I pick up that stone do you think it'll bleed?
What if I squeeze it real hard?
That's my life you see my dear,
I really should have been a Bard.

I much prefer writing to all this stuff,
Just a pump and grind and sweat,
I can't do more, I really do try,
I'm dangling on a string; I'm just your pet.

What ever happened to all those Shakespearos?
Did they all end up in the rat race?
Just like me and you and him,
We're all just one faceless face.

There must be more; this can't be it,
Maybe I should try a faith,
A religion, a creed, something to believe in,
I could become a working wraith.

I'd slip in and out of life,
I'd never be seen, just a figment of all your sight,
Just a refugee from a grinding existence,
Just a metaphorical thief in the night.

But what would my wife and kids say to that?
They rely on me you see; I have to bring home the bunce,
It's not as easy as just letting go,
They'd hate me, I'd become a dunce.

So just spin the wheel and I'll continue to dream,
Dream that one day this will all stop,
I'll have finally made it and can never no more
Jump to your tune, hip, hop, hop, hop.

Who's next please?