Dean Young is a bad MF

Crouching on a chair gone cold
 a ledge above the howling dark
these dreams he tries to make unfold
  and conjure them in struggling sparks..
Scratch away with your feeble pen,
 give up and begin again.

  Now the world is not so willing
to embrace the kindled flame.
  It has other ways to light its buildings
electric noise and light's to blame
 but still he scratches with his plastic pen
      his hand freezes, and moves, again.

He knows that there's no use, complaining.
So few have even seen his signal fire,
but still he taps away his time remaining,
   and uses it to make things brighter
He hammers at it with  heroic pen
 until he sees the sun again