Grit, spit, and Words to fit
A making of my own way
A paradise carved from a hell of a lot shit
Mouths to feed
Life to breed
A warrior to sale the seven seas
I raise my flag for all to see
Punching in the clock
No more for this warlord
The clock is mine
I set my time to soar
And when the wind brushes up against the skin
I know there will be a great reward
In all earnest endeavors
Waking up is the only chore
What i love is what i bleed for
Blood, sweat, and tears
Hard work and high rise
A green thumb
And wood carved eyes
Painted skin and a voice to change the tides
The land crys out,
My job is to abide
©palewriter
P