I must go down to the sweets machine, to the sweets machine and the sky,
And all I ask is a bag of chips and a coin with which to buy,
And my chair shall spin by an empty desk, and the wind shall blow in my hair,
And the sound of my feet will echo and echo along the stony stair.
I must go down to the sweets machine, where the queue is great and long,
And the sound of joy shall ring and shall ring the entire office along,
Where the managers call along the hall, and ‘chocolate’ is their cry,
And the talk is of weekend and footy rather than KPI.
I must go down to the sweets machine, while the keyboards all clatter away
For I have been dreaming and longing of M&Ms all the day;
For the lines of tea bags are calling, and my teacup is empty and bare,
And the sound of the hot water falling on china is sweet and solemn and fair.