[Intro]
Slide deck fantasies, plasma on the screen,
Blue-ring halo on a venture-cap dream.
You call it “star in a bottle,”
I call it “nothing on the table tonight.”

[Verse 1]
You said “it’s fundamentally safe,”
meteor tests on a conference slide.
One-second fuel in a neat blue ring,
meanwhile grids still drop outside.
You sell a sun you can’t ignite,
write Part 30 like a lullaby.
Hospitals, beams and shielding walls,
but no hot water where the kids lie.

[Pre-Chorus]
You flex that tokamak sketch again,
all Q-noise, no megawatt feed.
You call it “leadership, fusion first,”
but your datasets don’t heat what they need.
Geothermal in the scrap pile,
boring rock you never fund.
You’d rather chase a lab-bred halo
than let the wells run for everyone.

[Chorus]
For every thought of fusion,
a child goes hungry.
Another billion to the plasma show,
empty bowl on the live-stream, lonely.
For every thought of fusion,
you skip one more real-world fix.
You call it “clean for centuries,”
but the meter still reads “no mix.”

[Verse 2]
You talk of neutrons like they’re tame,
activation steel in a dry cask off-screen.
You hide tritium in the footnotes,
call it “just a hospital machine.”
Part 50 for the water boilers,
Part 30 for your lightning toy.
Different rulebook, same polished token,
same old rich man’s science joy.

[Pre-Chorus 2]
You said “you’ll never need to evacuate,”
like that’s the only way to fail.
No word on cost or timing,
no cables, no actual rail.
While pipes leak in the boiler towns,
you’re posing by a magnet coil.
Good suit, nice smile, no electrons out,
just more grants and lobby oil.

[Chorus]
For every thought of fusion,
a child goes hungry.
Another render of a halo ring,
no lunch in the canteen, sorry.
For every thought of fusion,
another year lost to the pitch.
You call it “world-transforming,”
but the switch stays off at the switch.

[Bridge]
Cute little demo in a plexi box,
camera pans on the LinkedIn post.
Meanwhile mom’s on prepaid heat,
counting coins for the week’s roast.
You said “rock heat isn’t sexy,”
just pipes and pumps in the dirt.
But that unbranded well beneath us all
could’ve fed the grid first.

[Final Chorus]
For every thought of fusion,
a child goes hungry.
You chase a star in a meeting room,
leave real homes cold and hungry.
For every thought of fusion,
you let the simple answer slide.
You build a future no one lives to see,
while today gets pushed aside.