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Hands that kink under their sores,
On the edge of real and imaginary wars, Use splintered wisdom to barricade the doors, As time sharpens the lead of good men worn. No man here is to be bested, Not even by dull aches from winters tested, Stood on the footings of the trade they've invested, The ale, the laughter and the soul well rested. Underneath a tyrannical sun, Time takes no holidays, and Scrap Iron Men make the most of a days ghosts pay.
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Tired.
More spiritually at this point. Bank in the negative. Still. Burdening loved ones for places to stay, Should've got a trade, Should've done it years ago, Before the dream started to suffocate. Miss my woman. Prospects on the operating table. Get that patient in here stat! Use what light there is left, This one's caught a rare disease called Dreams & Principles, As though they weren't for the sacrificial altar. Or people with wealth. At least that's the way it seems. Tonight is ripe to break the sobriety streak but, Of course, That would be weak and, Of course, I'm cranky. Carpal tunnel vision. Hands set in concrete, Raging like a dumpster fire. But there's still enough light left in them To search for clumsy melodies in the silence, Light in the shadows. The Odds.
They’re always against you. And when they aren’t, you better act like they are. Stand your ground. Steer the course. Eye on the prize. There’s nothing More agonising & sustained, Than the long, Slow toll & ruthless decay Of regret And remorse. The gentle, silent erosion of you, Behind sweet veils of contentment, Is enough to wear even the strongest Down into most silent, Catastrophic suffering, Deep inside the abyss of their Most silent Moments. But the Odds, The Odds are always there to remind you. The Odds are always there to remind you That glory is not at your fingertips, But on the other side of the eternal Mud crawl. Once you've smashed the false window From which you see yourself Awe will be inspired, Tears will be shed, But the Odds will remain Like a bully beating you over your soul. The sting of the struggle will be bearable But the rage of regret is everlasting. The odds are always there to remind you that The other side holds Rewards and riches far beyond Any material thing your narrow material mind Can comprehend. The Odds are always there to remind you that You're not subject to one Race, sex, colour or creed. That you'll prevail In spite of those things. The Odds are always there to remind you Of what it really means, What it really feels like, What it really means To be alive. The Odds. They’ll love to remind you of them. They’ll revel in the maths, These masters of sugar and sand. Your job is to laugh, Loud like a lion, At the thought of someone bringing up something So irrelevant and insignificant As The Odds. |
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