A Message to The 45th Floor, Office 12- by: unknown forgotten

Squeezing blood from a dirty whore
You're getting more wretched every moment
And your soul is dieing more every moment
What'll you do when you can't call her back?
So lonely on a weekday 'working late' at night

You soiled your brand new car
And your wife is asleep at home
How much money can your associates fork over
To cover up this mess and your quiet bank rupture
But they're way too preoccupied to even consider a compromise
Now you're neck is theirs and they're sharpening knives
They have the right
You broke their backs more than once, more than twice

Office doors and secure phone calls can't keep out truth
Lies seep like toxic ooze
You're done for
Boy, your children are going to be disappointed.