NIGHT SHIFT AGAIN
Damn, I got the night shift again.
I'm sitting here in a dinner-jacket
seething. My pencils are all in a
heap and sometimes, I swear I
just nervously sweat over nothing
at all. There's no sound within
the meaning; like Faulkner's
Sound and Fury one must not
go without the other.
Here's a lethal heap upon the floor:
Oh, it's just the dog, a'sleeping.