There are words in the middle of the night,
unspoken, unheard, unseen but bright.
Making it all seem worth the fight,
like magically colored light.
Then the daylight darkens the walls,
when a tired soul on the carpet falls.
Everyday is work – just endless halls,
but no escape it seems – duty calls.
Water, just a little water and bread to eat,
ice cold hearts and sunny heat,
down in the deserts – with the morning beat,
all in order, all working, for the one’s in the seat.