Some people
Tend to do
A lot 
Of loud 
Unnecessary
Walking
I don't know
If it's the clomp
Of their shoes
The pomp of their
self importance
Or the constant
Hurry and rush
Of getting 
Nowhere 
Quickly
I hear them
Stamp stamp stamp
Up
And 
Stamp stamp stamp
Down
All day long
And I wonder
What it says
About
The state of
The insides of 
Their heads
And their pent up
Un-spent
Frustration
Or maybe
They're simply 
The pistons 
Of the machine
Constantly reminding me
That whatever 
I think it is
I'm doing
There's no escaping
The heavy cogs
Of
The factory