Office morning

Office girls get up and dress like whores.
Office gentlemen dress like confirming priests.
Some of them drag on fag ends in longing for destiny
Some of them talk to their handsets like it's war.
There is a faux friendship here
And blank impotent rage
When in years gone bye nine bells would toll
The reality of slavish coil doesn't depend on whistles.
Fake leather elbows on a tweed coat: oh is that the best you can do?
Drag them away one by one and shoot the lot.
Put them on the east coast cattle truck to be boiled down to tallow.