Five to Nine

Five in the morning, the alarm starts to scream. I'm out of

the bed, chasing yesterday's dream. Punching at eight for the wage that pays bills.

But my heart's in the shop with the sawdust and drills. By six,

I'm home, boots off, coveralls on. The garage light flickers,

another night's begun. Callouses crack and the splinters run deep. But every rough

edge is a promise I keep. Dirty hands, clean money, that's the life

I chose. Turning scraps into beauty while the daylight goes. Sweat on my

brow and resin in my vein. Building tomorrow through the ache and the strain.