Boiled Frogs

A man sits at his desk

One year from retirement

And he's up for review

Not quite sure what to do

Each passing year

The workload grows

I'm always wishing

I'm always wishing too late

For things to go my way

It always ends up the same

Count your blessings

I must be missing

I must be missing the point

Your signal fades away

And all I'm left with is noise

Count your blessings on one hand

So wait up, I'm not sleeping

Alone again tonight

There's so much to dream about

There must be more to my life

Poor little tin man

Still swinging his axe

Even though his joints

Are clogged with rust

My youth is slipping

My youth is slipping away

Safe in monotony

So safe, day after day

Count your blessings

My youth is slipping

My youth is slipping away

Cold wind blows off the lake

And I know for sure that it's too late

Count your blessings on one hand

So wait up, I'm not sleeping

Alone again tonight

There's so much to dream about

There must be more to my life

Can't help but feel betrayed

Punch the clock every single day

There's no loyalty and no remorse

Youth sold for a pension cheque

And it makes him fucking sick

He's heating up, he can't say no

Whoa, oh, oh, oh

Whoa, oh, oh, oh

Whoa, oh, oh, oh

So wait up, I'm not sleeping

Alone again tonight

There's so much to dream about

There must be more to my life

So wait up I'm not sleeping

Alone again tonight

Between the light and shallow waves

Is where I'm going to die

Wait up for me

Wait up for me

Wait up for me