Why is it that I can never come home?

I'm always here working,

or constantly on the phone.

They never stop calling me.

Can't they figure these things out on their own?

All I can think of are my plans for the day.

I'm working three jobs for one man,

all for the same pay.

Same routine, just like yesterday.

I have to deal with other workers

who can't seen to figure it out.

I've got a boss who doesn't see

that I've got places I need to be.

I've got children to feed.

I'm waiting patiently,

but it's like he doesn't hear my voice.

He's so caught up in himself

that he doesn't realize the cards he's dealt.

Look into my eyes.

Can't you see?

I'n not just an employee,

but a proud mom of three.

All of this work, and all of this stress,

my back is in pain,

and my hair is a mess.

My feet are as swollen as a marathon runners',

and my hands feel like I'm on a tank-I'm the gunner.

I think of my children;

trying to be the parent they need,

but my tasks take my time.

I promise, I will succeed.

Right now they're at home waiting for me.

Maybe if I were noticed

my needs would be heard,

but instead I'm the slave

stuck in a cave called work.

When I get home,

I can feel the relief.

I call their names,

but no answer is what I receive.

I don't want to wait anymore,

so I walk up the stairs,

and open their doors

only to find them fast asleep.

I walk away and begin to weep.

How I desire for our eyes to meet.

To hear their voices and watch them leap.

Tomorrow, maybe, tomorrow may be.

If only she'd see through the muck and the mire.

The bills are paid,

the house is clean,

the kids are fed;

she shouldn't worry,

nor let it consume her like fire.

If only she'd see the one who knelt on one knee;

the one who helps her and keeps her company.

Tomorrow, maybe, tomorrow may be.