Each night when I get home from work

I have a chore I do not shirk

My knapsack’s contents I lay bare

On the floor beneath the stair

I think about the day to come

My mind is ticking, my spirit numb

I like to think I’m well prepared

But actually I’m just scared

My world’s contained within this sack

Though limited I feel no lack

If we were ambushed here today

You would die, I’d run away

I could relent and build a fort

I’m sure my plans would come to naught

Someone would burn it to the ground

My charred remains would not be found