Samaritans

It’s 9:03 am, where’s my breakfast Oh, I have to get it myself Not that hungry I suppose Apathetic morning half-tones No shuffling, straight upright Swaying, fighting off figures Feel chained up like Kracken Absurd loneliness, never by myself Poor Prometheus; poor, poor, Prometheus He could never keep his breakfast down Every morning robbed of the feeling Of being full, of being useful, alone In stone hands men pray Eyes wide shut, breath rapid Pose questions of why and when Accept it, unchangeable dilemma