The room smells of saturation
The party guests complain
The wines reek of maturation
The gripes are overly strained
But there’s one man drinking it all in
While the rest are spewing swill
Someone needs to relieve the pressure
And he knows no one else will
His life’s an open book
But he won’t turn the pages
He employs a labored mind
Paying minimum wages
I’m sick of losing my voice
Buried in the white noise
I’m getting lost in the sound
Drowned out in the background
To cause a scene
You just need to scream
Craning necks to see who shouted
The party guests aroused
Notice the room feels a bit more crowded
With the grievances espoused
With one voice over another
A murmur builds to a din
She moves across to the defeated man
Once again suffocating
His life’s an open book
But she turns the pages
She extends a labored hand
Raking in petty wages
I’m sick of losing my voice
I’m getting stuck in the sound
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