Continuing the rural theme — found it on fishki, I crawled under my chair laughing :)
Come morning you will walk to the office, Log your arrival in the book, Then mindlessly stare at the monitor, And another day for the country — just gone.
You’ll sit there in a fog of tedium, At war with boredom, losing fast, You’ll shuffle that same sheet of paper From one corner to the last.
Then you’ll kiss the boss’s backside To prove you’re worth more than a nought, And get right back to your real labor — Sitting ’til your ass is shot.
And so you drift, tasteless and hollow, Year after year, day after day — Your bellies full, your souls all empty, Not life, but just a pointless fray.
Why are you even in this world, then? Where’s the result of all your grind? What have you built, what have you managed? What, besides the seat you’ve lined?
What besides a chair worn hollow, And greasy elbows on the desk? Who needs a fate like yours, I wonder? Who wants you? What’s the interest?
Do something real, just once, I’m begging, Take up your labor with some zest, Abandon that moss-covered office. Just drop it. Head out West — to the collective!
Put on a padded coat, grab a pitchfork, And march out singing to the land, The collective farms have no more workers, That’s where the Motherland needs your hand!
Walk into the barn, swinging your shovel, Scoop up a bucket of warm dung, Breathe in the sharp and pungent manure — And feel real life fill up your lungs.
Against the muck-covered cow’s udder Press your unshaven cheek with care, Soak in the earthy, simple pleasures, And break a milking record there.
For that you’ll earn the wide-hipped milkmaid, A prize no office drone can claim, Not dolled up bright in city fashion, But not a pale and sardined dame.
Having tumbled in the hayloft with her, And smoked on an empty stomach too, You’d be amazed to find the wonders Of vodka and of borscht brand-new.
Breathing the herd’s thick scent of manure, You’d soar up like a falcon high, You wouldn’t need that office anymore — Now that’s the life worth living by!
The country’s woes all stem from offices — Each expert sits upon his rear, Just understand, you lazy freeloaders — IT’S TIME TO ACTUALLY WORK, YOU HEAR! via