Boxes To Go



I’ll make a net of cardboard, determine all the sides

Measure edges, long or short, how high, how deep, how wide

I’ll fold along the seam lines and straighten them just so

Insert the die-cut tags in slots for boxes fit to go


I’ll work the booth at drivethru’ on a wage that’s minimum

And do the job that I’ve been told with directions to keep schtum

I’ll scan the lists of orders determined in the past

Pack them in and label them and do it all so fast


I’ll never look at menu, I’ll never get it wrong

I’ll wear their hat upon my head, work zero hours or long

I’ll never question motives, I’ll never notice flaws

I’ll fold myself in pre-made box and follow unjust laws


I’ll keep my glue gun handy to fix up little holes

Take no risks that contents leak or spill out captured souls

I’ll fit all folk in boxes and hope that I am right

And even when I’m wrong I’ll cope with boxes out of sight


I’ll make my little boxes, red, yellow, black and white

One for you and one for you and maybe I just might

Make new boxes as I go with nets of different moulds

I’ll never look within myself, I could not be so bold


I like my little boxes, spent years on making them

Religious ones and foreign ones, some bashed, some straight, some bent

I’m living in a carton with cardboard cutout brains

Could you repeat that order so I can get it wrong again