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Alive, But Not Conscious
Alarm bells ring at five in Collins Street
To signal the end of another day.
Workers emerge from their small cubicles,
Faces bland, expressionless and boring.
Like a thick, black mass, we walk to the train
others stop at the pub for a quick drink.
But nevertheless we all make it home,
Where we become unique and different,
Rather than a speck in dull conformity
wandering home through Collins Street at Five.
Nobody in the group dares make a sound
For fear of breaking the monotony.
The same is repeated ...