Passing pavement for his meal,
He lost his identity.
Blank behind his big rig's wheel,
He runs from eternity.

The beckoning of the call
Pains him beyond admission.
In his escape from the fall,
He's found in drug possession.

All caught on television,
He crumbles for all to see.
"What a fool!" cries the man's son;
A son whose life is TV.

Shackled by a vocation,
The son seeks sitcoms' solace.
Hours of fabrication,
Still reflects the mirrored face.

The beckoning of the call
Is the yoke in which we heave.
Thoughts on the point of it all
Weigh upon what we believe.