Complicated

A Complicated Library Song
(after Lavigne)

Panic in the library.
Nothing much that we can see:
Some boxes need to be moved gradually from A to B.
But it's not as straight as that:
Some may need to be packed flat.
A key dependency so wait and see,
The committee

Deciding which may could meet any day.
And who is to say?
It could be OK.
They could well decide
Possibly, perhaps, maybe.

Tell me,
Why must every bloody thing in here be so damned complicated?
Getting anything done round this place would be simpler
If they delegated.
It's wishful thinking: you
Can't breathe, you can't move, you can't cough
You can't blink or squint or even fart
Without permission from someone less Dragon's Den, more addle-pated.
No, no, no...

Work lands on you unannounced
All your priorities get bounced.
Where you are and where it's at, you see, it isn't me
Who's tugging out all of their hair.
You're right: it just isn't fair.
We know we're not fooling anyone: it isn't fun.

Like rats in a maze
Wandering round in a daze
With despairs and dismays
Getting anything done, by any old one,
It's just an impossibility.

Tell me
Why'd they have to go and make things so complicated?
It's a nightmare with every teeny tiny weeny farty
Process triplicated?
But work's like this, you're
The one who's required to recall rules laid in full
In the runes of a phantom manual
The stuff of legend, otherwise unsubstantiated.
No, no, no..

(No, no, no...)

Chill out, whatcha working for?
Give up, it's all been done before.
And if you could only let it be... you will see.
Some fool changes the world.
We sit back, lip curled.
We're trying to be cool, we were that fool not so long previously.

Tell me
Why'd the have to go and make things so complicated?
And at the same time why does every piece of work we do
Have to be unco-ordinated?
It's a mystery to me.
That they'll sit and they'll talk
And they'll "plan" for a million years
And end up with a progress plan that's terminally constipated.
No, no...
Why must every bloody thing in here be so damned complicated?
The smoke and mirrors, the buck-passing inactivity gets me so damned frustrated But work's like this, you
Can't breathe, you can't move, you can't cough
You can't blink or squint or even fart
Without the entire purpose of the effort being dissipated.
No, no, no....