Boiled Frogs

A man sits at his desk One year from retirement And he's up for review Not quite sure what to do Each passing year The workload grows I'm always wishing I'm always wishing too late For things to go my way It always ends up the same Count your blessings I must be missing I must be missing the point Your signal fades away And all I'm left with is noise Count your blessings on one hand So wait up, I'm not sleeping alone again tonight There's so much to dream about There must be more to my life Poor little tin man Still swinging his axe Even though his joints are clogged with rust My youth is slipping My youth is slipping away Safe in monotony, so safe day after day Count your blessings My youth is slipping My youth is slipping away Cold wind blows off the lake And I know for sure that it's too late Count your blessings on one hand So wait up, I'm not sleeping alone again tonight There's so much to dream about There must be more to my life Can't help but feel betrayed Punch the clock every single day There's no loyalty and no remorse Youth sold for a pension cheque And it makes him fucking sick He's heating up, he can't say no So wait up, I'm not sleeping alone again tonight There's so much to dream about There must be more to my life So wait up, I'm not sleeping alone again tonight Between the light and shallow waves Is where I'm going to die Wait up for me Wait up for me Wait up for me