My job demanding my time, my body, my mind;
It desires to taste the riches of my soul as well.
Relentless overtime assaulting my senses again;
Walking through this world sleepy, now a zombie.
I could always turn around and walk out the gate;
Forgo the security of a good job for the freedom.
The shackles of the prison are not my captures;
But it is my desire for the good life, now a zombie.
I keep thinking that in just over two more years
My commitment to this phase of life will be complete.
I hang on to that dream of my season in the sun;
To that final spin of the turnstile, now a zombie.
I look within, seeking contentment, thankfulness;
For too many souls wander seeking a job these days.
Joy, gratitude, and gentle peace bubbles up;
The anchor of my soul keeps me, no longer a zombie.
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