He wakes before the morning light,No dreams survived the sleepless night.His wallet thin, his spine is straight,He walks with quiet hands of fate.He wears the same old, faded shoes,Counting bills he knows he'll lose.The fridge half full, the hope half gone,But still he breathes, and still moves on.He tells his kid, “Don't worry, dear,”Then turns to hide the silent tear.They ask for more, he says..
