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I rise each morning at 3:45,
such is the price
of living my life.

I drive to work at 4:45,
living the dream;
the working man’s life.

Dark, motorway,
motorway, dark,
life on the road;
not much of a lark.

Road, work,
work, hotel,
spin the treadmill,
ring that bell.

Towns, cities,
continents flying by;
motorway, airport,
check-in, sky.

I rise each morning at 3:45.
If I’m really lucky
I can be home by five,
more often than not
seven or eight;
don’t wait up
I may be late.