In the bleak and shadowed chamber, dreary,
Where weary workers toil so long and weary,
In the dim and flick’ring office light,
I toil and toil through the endless night.

As the minutes crawl like a wounded beast,
My soul grows heavy, my strength decreased,
The papers stack, the emails they grow,
In this office of despair, my spirits low.

My eyelids droop, my mind in a haze,
I long for respite from this endless maze,
The clock upon the wall, it mocks and jests,
Each tick and tock a cruel, relentless test.

In the silence of the office, echoes wane,
My thoughts, like ghosts, drift through my brain,
With every keystroke, a mournful sigh,
In this corporate dungeon, I wither and die.

Oh, how I yearn for the evening’s grace,
To escape this dismal and lifeless place,
But duty chains me to this wretched shore,
In the style of Poe, I toil evermore.

In the grip of fatigue, I slowly descend,
As the workday’s madness refuses to end,
In this dark and melancholy space,
I am but a weary soul, lost in the rat race.