[Intro] The factory whistle cuts the morning haze, Calling names the daylight knows. Bootheels strike the cracked pavement, Another shift beneath the smoke. [Verse 1] Paychecks thin as worn-out paper, But the landlord still wants more. We pull on gloves, punch the clock, And walk through the millhouse door. Steel dust settles on our jackets, The machines begin their song. Then somebody fires up the radio, And suddenly the day feels less long. A guitar growls through the locker room, A drummer kicks against the gloom. For a moment these concrete walls Can't hold what the music moves. [Chorus] Strike the chord that shakes the rafters, Let the thunder fill the air. We're bruised by clocks and crooked wages, But there's still fire burning there. Turn it up and scorch the shadows, Let the amplifiers light the night. In a world of rust and ticking hours, Music keeps the spirit bright. [Verse 2] Evening falls like iron rainfall, As the shift spills out the gate. We trade the noise of steel and pressure For cold drinks and staying late. Scarred old tables, tired laughter, A jukebox rattles by the wall. Every song feels like a promise That we haven't lost it all. We raise a glass to the week behind us, To the road we haven't seen. And when the solo climbs sky-high, The whole room feels redeemed. [Bridge] The years roll by like freight trains, Heavy wheels upon the line. But a good song still cuts through worry Every single time. Some folks pray beneath stained glass, Some chase fortune down the road. We find grace in six steel strings And the stories they unload. [Final Chorus] Strike the chord that shakes the rafters, Let the thunder fill the air. We're bruised by clocks and crooked wages, But there's still fire burning there. Turn it up and scorch the shadows, Let the amplifiers light the night. In a world of rust and ticking hours, Music keeps the spirit bright. [Outro] So here's to dawns that taste like iron, And nights that taste like flame. As long as the speakers keep roaring, We'll answer when they call our names. The whistle cries... The guitars answer.
