We're all mad in 'ere, you know!

They're high on their black office humour,

It thickens the skin on their brains.
Their comfort is pressure and scandals,
They say they're completely insane.

They're making smalltalk with their worst foes

To pass a dull afternoon's theme.
There's hatred between the computers
And death by the coffee machine.

The wallets are bulging with smugness

Of those they're all trying to please.
A few of them fall on the glass shards
While some of them prosper with ease.

But I just look out of the windows

To daffodil dole queues outside,
To crocuses sulking in tandem,
Chrysanthemums running to hide.

Directors are choosing their victims

From telephone lists in the dark,
But floating above them, a strange force
Vacated the spot where they parked.

There's talk of Eastenders and football,

Of all the best ways to get pissed.
Some fool tried to smash up his keyboard
But thought of his future, and missed.

Now all the smart chaps in the boardroom,

Of cool one-dimensional whizz,
Are toasting their cashing-in conquests
With lashings of corporate fizz.

They fear not a thing called Redemption,

They'd rather drink life’s victories,
But Daffodil Dole Queues still beckon
From Heaven sent D.W.P.