Death Of A Salesman

This is the final countdown

the hands on the clock,

have become the hands upon

your throat

take a hard look, at your time card

add up all the hours,

the weeks, the months, and years

think of all the time that you've sold away

of all the smiles, laughter, and passion

you've left behind

one of many, you file into lines

your hopes and dreams diminished,

is it worth what your being given?

can all the moments torn away ever be replaced?

is the one life you've been given,

all going to waste?

success is meaningless if you've sold your soul to

accomplish it All the money in the world won't be

able to lift this weight from your chest

this is the final countdown

the hands on the clock,

become the hands on your throat (x4)

neckties, are like a subtle noose

hanging from the gallows,

swaying in the winds of progress

a lifetime of subservience,

swept away by this,

hurricane of deception

one of many, you file into lines

your hopes and dreams diminished,

is it worth what your being given?

can all the moments torn away ever be replaced?

is the one life you've been given,

all going to waste?

the hands on the clock,

are the hands on your throat (x4)