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Artist:Uncle Tupelo 

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If you find yourself standing At the end of your line Looking for a piece of something Maybe a piece of mind Fed up, lost, and run down Nowhere to hold on Tired of, take your place at the end son We'll get to you one by one No light ever shines Dead end tears that dry Maybe a waste of words and time Never a waste of life Every hour will be spent Filling a quota, just getting alonghandcuffs hurt worse When you've done nothing wrong No thanks to the treadmill No thanks to the grindstone There's plenty of dissent from These rungs below The clockwork of destruction Hanging low over our heads Always a smokestack cloud Or a slow-walking death

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