Time on the clock, hands spinning slow,
Boots caked in mud, where the wild winds blow.
Dust on my jeans, the earth's tattooed stain,
Calluses whisperin’ the cost of this pain.
Sweat rolls heavy, it cuts through the grime,
Ain't no glory in this, just a war with time.
It’s a dirty man’s game, no shine, no fame,
Blood in the soil, and the sun sets the same.
Grinding my soul for a scrap of a name,
But the dust don’t lie—this is a dirty man’s game.
I hear the coyotes howl in the black of the night,
The moon hangs crooked, just a sliver of light.
Shovel in my hand, dirt flying behind,
Every strike’s a reminder, I'm chained to the grind.
My shadow’s my witness, my sins my disguise,
The mud knows my secrets, the sweat don’t tell lies.
Boots caked in mud, cracked leather seams,
Dust on my jeans, frayed at the dreams.
Calluses thick, like bark on a tree,
Sweat on my brow, but that don’t bother me.
The sun’s a cruel clock, hands burn slow,
Time ain't money, but it sure takes its toll.
It's a dirty man’s game, and I’m playin’ it rough,
Grindin’ that stone, though the edges stay tough.
Ain't no clean way to make an honest dime,
But I'll bleed every hour just to buy me some time.
The whistle screams sharp, cutting through dawn,
Steel bites my soul, but I keep pushin’ on.
The fields don’t rest, and the plow don’t pause,
The earth’s got no mercy, no love, no applause.
Every scar tells a story, each wrinkle's a map,
The weight of the world’s just a strap on my back.
But I’m tied to this life, like a dog to its chain,
Through the dust, through the sweat, through the cold-driving rain.
It's a dirty man’s game, and I’m playin’ it rough,
Grindin’ that stone, though the edges stay tough.
Ain't no clean way to make an honest dime,
But I'll bleed every hour just to buy me some time.
It’s a dirty man’s game, no shine, no fame,
Blood in the soil, and the sun sets the same.
Grinding my soul for a scrap of a name,
But the dust don’t lie—it's a dirty man’s game.
Poet419
