This is a song about "Service desk"

Now money is a service, but it's worthless, there's no purpose, shit,

Drivin and typin, not payin attention, missin they next exit

Dial up words but they're not in service

Together all the timethought it was true love

At a funeral service lurking and snatching purses

Then never touch it, like your goatee it's grown for years

Secret service insurgents observe me nervously

Everybody watching while you touching real money

When you next to medo you wanna test me ?put your tired head on my chest

My laptop just laying on my desk, wondering what's gonna' happen next

I confessed bein' atheist, they said i was possessed

I can't write when there's shit on my desk

Service the discursive lurkers in the furthest mergers of a scary circus,

And i'm the same, on e'erything i love, or everything i love

I do this as a service

So now this work's been worthless