If you find yourself alone one day
atop a lonesome hill
lookin’ out across a field of fresh cut hay
and runnin’ low on will
and thinkin’ you might be sick or tired
a bit of both perhaps,
get up off your haunch
you’ve gotta self-launch
because that’s what this world required.
You signed on at birth
and wagered your worth
all through your youth and through life,
when you feel like quittin’
and you take to just sittin’
have one more try, it’s dead easy to cry,
you have to chin up, eyes forward and why—
’cause you’re born to this dirt, to this air on this earth,
and even kickin’ and screamin’ like you were at birth,
you gotta keep pluggin’, gotta stick to your guns,
you can’t stop to rest now, you’ve gotta run.
You don’t have to sprint, but stay a bit ahead,
you have to keep momentum or you might’swell be dead.
Don’t give up, bucko, knock off your dust,
remember, where there’s iron, there’s always gonna be rust.
Seranish 