This is from the point of view of a corporate middle-manager. Someone who has to deal with the customers, employees, and upper management. The thought that a corporate type has a conscience of course makes this a fictional story...The rich have no idea of sympathy...

Always wrapped up in my thoughts,
like a suit thats made, of chains and locks
Nothing but time is all Ive got
These locks Ive brought sure weigh a lot

My whole day, just a blur
Never quite registering, what occurred
The same routine, like a train on a track
Weve been taught to roll over,
and always come back

Were hooked on our money,
Like a fiend on a drug
Possessed by possessions
cause there aint enough love

We trip over each other
as we climb to the top
But were stuck on a plateau
Its just flat, then theres the drop

I'm the middle man between
my fellow man, and my company
Im always involved, in whatevers been schemed
The orders come down, theyre followed to a T

Ive done it so often, it becomes second nature
Ive even got raises,
With a mans life, we wager

But I can see my path ahead,
The road where I go, once I am dead
How can I argue, when I know the truth?
What Im doing is wrong
There is no dispute

These locks Ive got sure weigh a lot
Im chained to my doubt,
and these battles Ive fought

But Im tossing them off my weary back,
I know Ill be fine, and that is a fact.