“Mr. Theodore “The Thunder” Parker Snr.”

The faucet leaks, there goes my sleep,
Another night drips into an empty beer can.
The hell with this! I’m sick of dreams
Or is it fear? Well, I’m a weak-ass wimp…
Fastened my tool-belt, picked up my jacket,
Hope I got change for a packet of fags
As I drag myself towards a bottomless well,
An underpaid stain on my blank resumé.

Out of control,
This nightmarish black hole they call life
Is spinning out of control.
I’m all alone,
Right, nobody’s an island
But I’m stuck on a drifting boat
And I can’t afford a row.

The thoughts begin like they always did,
Like Wilhelm screams as I plow the street.
I haven’t seen my kid in almost seven weeks,
Another triple shift, primary school ain’t cheap
And I make my way to the pressure gauge
By the boiling clay tank with a mask on my face,
Clench my fists for the pain,
C’mon, is this fair?
For a minimum wage and a pat on the back?

I’m out of hopes and gods to hold on to,
I’ve left ’em all to wave goodbye from the shore
And when I’m gone tell my wife it was love,
Tell my little man I’ll watch him grow
From a better world.
Out of control,
This nightmarish black hole they call life
Is spinning out of control.
I’m all alone,
Right, nobody’s an island
But I’m stuck on a drifting boat
And I can’t afford a row.

Photo by Life Of Pix on Pexels.com