the night is young

If I don‘t wake up at eight I will kill myself

If I lose this job I will die somehow

And I know it‘s not true

But it feels like it is

And I often struggle having to explain this to kids

The night is young

I‘m all fucked up

The cakes I bake are always wrong

Awake, I sleep on sleep again

I will not eat or sleep again

I’ll never feel the wind that blows 

The place where all those stories went

Your time is short

My poems long

My bullshit neverending

You waste your days as capital

On things their worth, in spending

And sometimes you do question, still

How communists are trending

Your time is short, Herr Senior

The working class is mending