Grease on My Hands
Verse 1
There’s a rust-colored sunrise on this old steel deck,
Coffee’s gone cold, but the day’s not yet.
Got a grease gun hanging from a worn-out belt,
Trying to keep together what the ocean’s felt.
Every door tells a story when it starts to sing,
Every squeak’s a warning ’bout the little things.
A couple pumps of blue and the silence returns,
Funny how an old hinge still has something to learn.
Verse 2
I’ve watched strong men break like a frozen chain,
Holding back hurt just to hide the pain.
And I’ve learned that hearts ain’t much different than steel—
If you don’t give ‘em care, they’ll forget how to feel.
You can’t outrun time, you can’t bargain with rain,
You can’t wait till tomorrow to ease the strain.
The hardest things to fix are the ones we ignore,
‘Til they don’t swing open anymore.
Chorus
So I put grease on my hands and hope on my soul,
Trying to mend what this world can stole.
Every scar, every mile, every lesson I’ve earned,
Came from fires that I couldn’t stop from burnin’.
It’s never the big things that bring a man down,
It’s the little cracks hiding all around.
So I keep turning wrenches while I still can stand,
Leaving a little less rust… and more grease on my hands.
Verse 3
This old ship keeps rolling through the wind and tide,
Just like the memories I can’t outride.
Some names fade slow, some never leave,
Some still echo every time I breathe.
If love had a fitting and trust had a pin,
Maybe we’d all learn to grease them again.
Instead we wait until they lock up tight,
Wondering when we lost the fight.
Bridge
Maybe that’s what grace is…
Showing up before something breaks.
Giving more than you’re asked,
Holding on when letting go would be easier.
’Cause nothing made of iron
Was ever meant to last alone.
Final Chorus
So I’ll keep grease on my hands and faith in my chest,
Giving this old life everything I’ve got left.
If tomorrow comes calling, I won’t have regrets,
For the things I forgot… or the love I neglect.
‘Cause whether it’s a ship, or a dream, or a heart,
Everything lasting needs somebody’s spark.
And when they lay these old tools in the sand,
I hope they remember…
I left this world a little quieter…
With grease on my hands.
