Ballad of Labor

Something I wrote in the days of manual labor.

My fingers creek
As rust laden hinges
Turning, and twisting
And tweaking these wrenches

Defiant, my feet
Solid stones in this snow
Yet flesh still feels weak
So oppressed by the cold

My muscles ache
From the weight if these days
And unending strains
Of the debts to be paid

My body weeps
Enslaved by its needs
Aliment's king
And demands it to bleed

Strong stands my will
Firm grip on its lashes
The structure is meek
Heart spurs it to action

Hammer in hand
Feeling stiff as that steel
Swing furious blows
Tell my character's built