[Intro] They came in before the sun, coffee-fueled and second-ticked, a broken stone, overworked like zombies, they marched into the dawn. [Verse 1] Under fluorescent skies they stagger through the hall, half-awake and hungry, answering the call. Paper in their fingers, deadlines in their stare, the living dead keep working like they do not care. [Verse 2] By midnight they are groaning in a fading tone, dragging through the hours like a body made of stone. No grave can hold them, no sleep can set them free, the overworked are rising in a corporate decree. [Prechorus] A zombie apocalypse of the ones you love, the tired and the dead, play with work and you might end up like them. [Chorus] Surprise, now you’re dead, you don’t get to rest, not in the right way, now look at you, revived beneath the endless skies of your hours, the newborn in your arms, remember, you aren’t a,... zom--bie. [Bridge] Clock in, clock out, the zombie learns to breathe, overworked and restless, too dead to believe. [Verse 3] They chase the morning after twelve more calls, with cracked white faces in the break room walls. Their coffee’s gone cold, their name tags thin, but the shift keeps spinning and it pulls them in. [Bridge] Clock in, clock out, the zombie learns to breathe, overworked and restless, too dead to believe. [Verse 4] They laugh at the clock as it bites into the night, eyes all bloodshot, still pretending they’re alright. The hours pile up like bones in a cage, and every little overtime just deepens the rage. [Verse 5] Now the coffee’s a potion, the hallway’s a tomb, everyone’s a shadow in the office room. They shuffle through the burnout, pale and overused, the working dead keep marching, tired and abused. [Chorus] Surprise, now you’re dead, you don’t get to rest, not in the right way, now look at you, revived beneath the endless skies of your hours, the newborn in your arms, remember, you’re an overworked,,.. zombie. [Verse 6] So if you hear them knocking when the office lights go low, that’s the sound of bodies that the overtime won’t let go. No grave can hold them, no silence makes them stay, just another coffin made of work to face the day. [Prechorus] A zombie apocalypse of the ones you love, the tired and the dead, play with work and you might end up like them..- [Chorus] Surprise, now you’re dead, you don’t get to rest, not in the right way, now look at you, revived beneath the endless skies of your hours, the newborn in your arms, remember, you’re an overworked... zom-bie. [Bridge] In the cubicle crypt they shuffle side by side, with hollowed-out ambition and a thousand tasks to hide. The badge still scans, the spine still bends, but every unpaid minute is where the living ends. [Verse 7] They answer to the ringing like a fevered broken chain, moving through the ledger with a marrow-deep strain. Their eyes are set on nothing, their hands won’t ever sleep, and every extra minute digs the trench that they must keep. [Verse 8] The bonus is a candle, the promotion is a crumb, and all that’s left to feed them is the drumbeat of the numb. They rise because they have to, not because they’re feeling brave, just overworked revenants with no rest left to save. [Interlude] Oh, the hours keep calling, oh, the bodies keep falling, oh, the dead stay employed. [Outro] So turn the lights down slowly when the workday meets the night, for the zombie in the mirror might be you by morning light. No grave can hold that burden, no clock can make you stay, you’re just an overworked zombie, walking through the day.
