You have no idea how little I care about your sprockets,Nor how fast I can turn ‘em out on your machine.But the whole big thing might matter just a littleIf I could only see the woman smileAs she rolls her window down.Then perhaps, I’d care, just a little.Maybe it would help me believe That all of this means something.But I can’t see past the metalNor the wheel that turns the days aroundAnd squeezes out another carefully measured dollarInto my silent bank accountWithout a word, without a look, without even The feel of your sweaty palm As the money passesFrom your handInto mine.And so, one day soon, I’ll move on.These places are all the same.But you knew that.You knew that my allegiance was temporary,And you planned for the day whenI would leave and be replaced By another just the same.Maybe next I’ll try a restaurant.And there I’ll brew up pots of beans.I’ll cut tomatoes, and chop up salad greensAnd wrap them up in fine burritos.And, now and then, I’ll look out, To see the people smile And listen as they Compliment the establishment.

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