The stars tonight are covered up with clouds
Though high above the storm they twinkle bright
Away from all the bustle and the crowds
Up in the firmament of peaceful night.
Down here a jobsworth's sitting on his own
Shrugging a bit and raising up his face
(Like a passive-aggressive Al Capone)
Trying to keep all his red tape in place.
The weather moves outside his world of work
The futile fellow sees it's time to leave
He looks for one last person he can irk
Then packs away his things on Christmas eve.
Beneath the sky towards his empty flat,
The jobsworth scurries home just like a rat.
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