You wanna live, you gotta work,
About this fact theres no disputes;
But must this mean, that half our lives,
Is spent in wearying commutes?
On roads we sit, one of a herd,
Of autos stalled, stock-still as houses,
Or sit on trains, beside a guy,
We see more hours than our spouses.
I am no seer, with answers sure,
All tradeoffs here I cant unravel;
But this I know, not home nor work,
Is well served by this excess travel.
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