A dad tries 

to hide his pain 

with silent lies. 

The weight within him 

never dies 

as his heart 

slowly fries.

Before the sun 

he leaves his bed, 

his hungry son 

needs to be fed. 

When he returns, 

with steps like lead, 

he holds his son 

intertwined like thread.

They buzz and fuzz 

with eerie light, 

toxic green 

in the dead of night. 

Charged by work, 

radiating bright, 

a father's heart 

now being fried.

He wonders 

as his son releases a fart, 

"This way of life 

is breaking my heart. 

Why can't this toxic glow 

dispel the dark? 

My work and my love 

are worlds apart."

The tears fall in the dark 

against his life 

extinguishing the spark. 

Yet as dawn breaks 

he must embark, 

"Where is Engels 

and where is Marx?"

An explosion 

at the factory, 

an overloaded battery. 

In the mirror there's a scream. 

And there's never enough morphine.