Cubicle

Our cubicle was a stage,
We took a 9 to 5 on the road.

Keyboards clattered as we played,
and dreamed the dream of old.

We sang the songs of our youth,
before we grew too quick to live.

Rejected lies buried in the truth,
as we rocked the roof of a gig.

Signing autographs, autonomous rock stars
discovering what life really meant.

We sung our hearts in the name of art
behind a guitar, instead of a desk

Last night, I dared to dream,
before I rolled over and hit snooze.

Trying to recapture the moment again,
when the dream was still ours to choose.
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