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
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