I slave on day to day
Like a drone waiting for his chance to play
Yearning to feel the summer air
Through the entrails of his balding hair.
I'm hoping the bay breeze will get me there.
Leading me with its smell of salt liquid sands
And wishing I could run its water through my dried up hands
As I watch from the window of a factory the ocean waves
I could only fantasize of days I wouldn't have to slave
To live my life as I am supposed to freely
Because now I am an old man, wrinkled, tired and trite
Still mending and piecing children's toys with no delight
As I could remember placing toy soldiers side by side
Until I turned fourteen and then it was the end of my life