You've seen it on those old gates
Rusted by time
Arbeit macht frei
Next to those pictures of stick figure Jews
That your friends say you should pity

Not working gives you a permanent consistency
of fluttering ash
Working make you free
It was a lie
and they were ground into nothingness

So you go on with your life....
Cancerous red light brings the new day
You join with the streams of automatic  consciousness
Cold elevator and mathematically divided cubicles

Hands merged with keyboard
Ever stopped to wonder...probably not
Perfectly still
Except for your blurred hands and darting eyes

When the week's over:
Blue skies, green grass
Children ravaging your yard
Casual shirt waving in the breeze
Sun dress, a butterfly in a hurricane

Freedom!
...until next monday
They lied to the Jews...