Broken Hands, Tomorrow

“These hands may break… but they ain’t done.”

I’ve swung the hammer till the bones near cracked, Carved my name on trails that don’t look back. Every scar is a story, every callus a prayer, These hands keep working though the world don’t care.

Broken hands still build tomorrow, Blood on the wood, sweat in the sorrow. Every wound is a nail, every pain is a vow, Broken hands still build tomorrow somehow.

I’ve bled for wages, I’ve bled for love, Buried my hope and prayed above. But I ain’t no beggar, I ain’t no thief, These hands shape a future, though the work is grief.

Broken hands still build tomorrow, Stone on stone through fire and shadow. Even when the night don’t lend no light, Broken hands still build tomorrow right.

They can shackle my body, They can burn what I own… But tomorrow is built, From the marrow and bone.

Broken hands still build tomorrow, Rising from ruin, rising from sorrow. No grave, no chain, no end can bind, Broken hands still build tomorrow’s kind.

“Still building…”

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