A Laborer's Tools

A Laborer’s Tools

Sledgehammers, mauls, planks and pipes,

memories of my father still get me up at night

Come-alongs, chains, and wrecking bars-

and that old gray truck rusting in the yard.

The garage was full of abandoned stacks

cinder blocks, bricks, and old lifting jacks

Car parts, oil, just buckets of junk-

a scrap man’s vision that never was.

Generations…

You know they all start with a dream,

New generations-

search and find what’s in between.

My friend Sonny was a concrete man,

he had voices in his head from Viet Nam,

He was gentle man, humble and shy

‘made the bast damn bootleg apple pie.

He lived above a dirty old jukebox saloon,

but he never lost sight of his laborer’s tools-

Everything he did he did by choice

he could take it all in without raising his voice.

Generations…

so much is always lost-

And those reparations?

you know they all come with a cost.

Now I’m getting old and lucky to be,

got a whole lotta’ things that just ride with me-

Voices? Yeah, I got them too

they’re all right there with my laborer’s tools.

“Everyman’s Man” they may come and go,

It could be you or someone you know-

Count your blessings and take it slow,

life’s too short no matter what it throws.

Generations…

You know they all start with a dream

New generations

gotta’ go deeply in between.