The Last Real Men

We don’t ride in daylight.

Dust on the brim, sun cut low Boot heels grind where the wild winds blow Ain’t no choir sing our name We built ourselves from dirt and flame

No clean lines in the life we chose Gunmetal sky and a blood-red rose We don’t beg for softer ground We stand where the law breaks down

No white flags. No retreat.

We are the last real men Raised where mercy ends No polished prayers to send Just steel beneath our skin We don’t kneel, we don’t confess We don’t wear regret When the world forgets again We’re still here — we’re still men

Long roads cut through bone-dry land Truth weighs heavy in a steady hand Every scar got earned in heat Every lesson tastes like defeat

You want peace? Go find a priest. We found strength in the least No spotlight when we begin Just grit and wind

No mercy. No myth.

We are the last real men No saints, no pretend No silver spoons to bend No borrowed backbone If it breaks, let it break If it burns, let it burn When the weak turn in We don’t turn

You don’t become iron in comfort. You become iron in fire.

We are the last real men Dust in our lungs again No crown above our head Just miles behind us When the night rolls in And the law grows thin We don’t fade with them We endure.

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