A sexless Nine to Five pairing of sorts
Where verbal sparring is an Olympic event
That leads to some serious awards bling
Gold Medal Clocks that only Flavor Flav
Would worship at the altar of gladly
Before drinking some liquid Vodka courage
Causing the private game to transform
Into a brutal bloodsport where there’s only one winner
Whoever draws the first wound with the paper clip weapon
All the war wounds of a corporate marriage
Without the decisive detente of a horizontal 300 count conclusion
A peace offer following a Godiva box and two dozen roses
A romance unlikely in the cards for two uninterested souls
Bored senselessly of punching the time clock 40 hours a week
Chose to enter this “War of the Roses” lite war story
With eyes wide open and pinned back with a metaphorical staple gun
Knowing full well that this tale has no sunset lined happy ending
Just another day in Corporate America.
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