A beat behind the first rays
Of a sun that beacons me
Foretelling of a day
That day has come already?
Now rise I tell myself
At best half heartedly
My shell, aches, acts automatically
Giving the helmsman precious seconds
To toil, to toil, on to back breaking.
To toil, to toil, beneath the sun
To the fields, to the heat, for coin
And for food to eat.
I stand and stretch, following my feet
To toil, for the imaginary proof
Of currency, that I might live,
And I might eat, beneath a roof
Upon a world, that made me.
I get up and I face the day.