There is little compensation for my labor

Too many attachments with little solace

Am I full of regret?

No. For I, the responsible citizen

Do hold it cynically all together

My dignity, my position, my cigarette,

and my unforgiving hardened whiskey

All neatly tucked away

In the recesses of my salty soul

It is this or the unemployment (thus unloved) line

I must choose this, says the agreeable coward

There is more dignity to die of stress than of laziness

I am the good citizen, yes, please label me that

I have the good head on my good shoulders

the unquestioning follower of clueless men

Do I not fit into your equation?

I can contort what is left of me, if you like.