The Receptionist

The Receptionist

That girl, the receptionist
Front desk at Endeavor
Her hair, it's perfection
Her stilletos, her blazer
We've got the same job
But different faces
I'm thrown together, a slob
She's going places

That girl, the assistant
Twelve hours at Sony
Her friends growing distant
Her laugh growing phony
She picks up the phones
Files the faxes
She's never alone
Never relaxes

That woman, the executive
Someone I'll never be
Mt. Olympus is selective
At full capacity
I don't know how she does it
A mom, a boss, a wife
How many assistants does it
Take to screw up your life?

That girl in the mirror
That's who I am
A bit off, peculiar
I don't give a damn
Objective projections
I've pushed them away
After endless rejections
I'm doing okay

That star, constellation
Of possibility
It's a hallucination
Infinitely
Is there some purpose I haven't found
Wasting pennies on pipe dreams?
I'm still around without the sound
Of you humming my rhyme schemes

That girl, the receptionist
Dreaming of power
Career-driven perfectionist
Alone on her lunch hour
How much do you give away
Between nine and five
If you just live today
Then you're really alive