The night workers lament

The night worker is paid for their time but the currency is sleep. For every shift they work they are for the night to keep. 

The entire world has gone to bed and then there’s us, the night worker’s who keep the place running, our appetite in tatters, our eyes tired and our bodies weary.

Keep the lights dimmed. Let the Coffee, tea and sugar keep our systems running.

Is there another soul out there? Sometimes my eyes play tricks, guess that’s just the fatigue or perhaps something else..

Torchlight down corridors and hallways that lay silent. Did the door behind just open? A vending machine, my beacon of light, don’t swallow my change, I need this, alright.

Time seems to crawl and I’m feeling adrift. I’m just waiting for the light to give me just a little lift. Find any way to pass the eternal time. All of this just for the extra dime.

Early morning sky brings that light, my stomach realises and comes back my appetite.

Soon we’ll go home past the ‘normies’ who work all day. While I’ll be in the dark trying to drift away.

Sensitive to light and tired for days. But I’ve always got plans, always.

I guess I like it but sometimes need to vent, for this truly is the night workers lament.

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