The Eternal Coffee Break of the Soul

Wage labor wastes lives, steals our precious mortal hours and deadens our nerves and perceptions. Mr. Muerte laughs and points a finger at these office zombies, dancing his little shuffle jig of joy because he will not have to work for them, no, he needn't work for them, for they are dead already in their shambling shuck of petty monotony. The worker works that he might live yet never lives to see that day. Every foot on the ladder leads to the grave and grave leads not to greener pastures unless the oblivion of life unlived leads one to prefer chewing cud with the worms.

Oh, let my people go, Mr. Boss Man, to the river where we ain't gonna study work no more, ain't gonna study work no more. Lead me into the land of the eternal coffee break of the soul, the bottomless cup! Endless nights of carousing with Mr. Muerte!