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...
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