It started off a routine day    I got through the morning in the usual way    I caught the bus on time    Good morning, Mr. Driver, drive    As I sat inside my overcoat I clutched my cane    And pressed my nose against the foggy window pane    Ho hum    The life I lead would even make a dead man yawn    Midday comes    I break for lunch    With my sandwich and a beer I go on a hunch    To the park where I hope to find    A little bit of peace of mind    As I sat there on a bench amidst the rodent race    I felt a strange sensation that without a trace appeared    But then as quickly disappeared again       So tell me what's the bloody point of playing the game    With so much to lose yet so little to gain    You sell your life away    Can't you see you're just a cog working like a dog    You trade your future for a dead-end job    That's full of routine days    Routine days       I race the clock to the end of my day    The paycheck in my pocket makes me feel okay    But was it worth the grind    Just to keep from falling behind    I stand here in the queue behind a foul cigar    My face discreetly buried in a book on Mars    Humdrum    And I'm waiting on the pier 'til Charon comes