The writing of the stupid report,
The counterproductive proof of production.
The businessman in the fourth little planet,
The pseudo intelectual bureaucrat stamping his stamp,
Will he sit on top of the pile of paper he demanded?
Will he smile his petty smirk contemplating his migger power?
Late at night,
Duty performed, quite unwillingly,
I Search for light,
Skipping from one point of a star to another.