Trapped

It is Friday evening, the city starts to breathe easy, Colorful, with people walking on the streets as though crazy. You’re still working, slogging away like an ox, Feeling like you’re trapped inside a box.

It is Sunday afternoon, the city is still having fun Tourists still on the move, basking in the sun. You’re watching them, standing by the window holding whisky on the rocks, Feeling like you’re trapped inside a box.

It is Monday morning, the city wakes up to bad traffic, People hurrying to get past you, looking all graphic. You’re sitting in your car, as the RJ on your radio mocks, Feeling like you’re trapped inside a box.

It is everyday night, the couples kiss each other good night Others break apart after a bitter fight.

You go to bed, all alone, a wall built around your heart,

And feeling like you’re trapped inside a box.