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Poem

The Working Man
Should have been born with a dorsal fin
That was made to stand proud 
Only for time and oppression to cause it fail
Oh, tilikum, we weep

The working man is made to perform 
His painted smile so fake
To please his masters, to earn his food
Oh, tyke shot 80 times, we weep

His fighting spirit tamed at the end of a payslip
kept lashed to desk or lathe
watching the time tick away 
Tatiana roared just once more, we weep

Man was not made to dance for the man
To count his blessing for heat and to eat
To watch his time on earth deplete
Oh, Stephen, you are the working man. I weep.

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