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Shannon Stephens
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Song of the Breadwinner
Light on the water, lights on the hills.
Driving across the dark highway bridge.
I've got the heater blasting on high.
Radio sounds like a lullaby.
Got to make money, we've got to survive.
Rise in the morning at quarter of five.
It is a privilege to work for your bread.
Everyone else except me is in bed.
I left my lover curled up and warm.
I left a kiss on his open palm.
Coffeepot broken, nothing to eat.
Stepped like a phantom out into the street.
Times are unlucky, you take what comes through.
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Better than sit home with nothing to do,
panic and heartache crowding your dreams.
Everyone else except me is asleep.
And the sun breaks out with a holy shout
and the highway sings to me.
And I crow along as I go along;
for the next few miles I'm free.
Up, elevator, to the nineteenth.
Windows are orange across the street.
My world is empty, silent and clean.
Everyone else except me is asleep.
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