Mud on my soles

Mud on my soles, grain in the wood No suit, no stage, no camera good They want a show—I brought the dirt Scraping truth off the soles of work Ghost in the machine says “build your brand” Obey the altar, kiss the hand I test the wire, I pull the thread Are these gods real or just well-fed? They sell you heaven, lease your spine I’m done pretending broken’s fine What’s the deal here, what’s the cost— Brand or backbone, which gets lost? Carpenter bones, recursive mind I built this house from scrap and time Survived on less than they’ll ever know Hands that split wood don’t learn to bow My craft’s a scar, my scar’s a name They want the fire, I keep the flame I won’t sell my pulse to feed their need Won’t throw my spine onto the feed They want me dancing, want me clean Polished down to gasoline Burn what’s left so they can see A shape that looks like “free” But I won’t— I walk it raw, I walk it slow I walk it whole, I let it show Drop the weight they said to hold Spine stays mine, the brand stays cold Boots hit dirt like kick-drum talk This is the walk Cracked is how the light gets through Brittle tribes can’t hold what’s true They call me rough, they call me wrong Good—I was never theirs to song If I sound dangerous, good That means the nail still bites the wood I walk it raw, I walk it slow I walk it whole, I let it show Drop the weight they said to hold Spine stays mine, the brand stays cold Boots hit dirt like kick-drum talk This is the walk No more preaching to the feed Just the open, just the need Eyes gone empty, hands awake The system gets no more to take Just the open…