Bring the wrong pail
Put it prior their feet
Squinty eyes and furrowed brows
Feel the wind of retreat.
It's pushing backwards
Into the empty, soulless air behind
Tilt its head up
Taste the sunshine, moonlight, and ocean.
Grubby shoes, tattered sole, and ripped tongue
It's a plain dirty outfit
Overwork autographed on the cloth.
The lips take a rest
As the eyes step up
Worked to death
Seeking for approval
Of other souls in the air.
The dirt sinks beneath the mud
When the frown crosses the face.
Dig for something worthwhile
Dig anyplace the shovel can crawl
Fight against the towering trees
And the wind that rides with.
Ignore the aching feeling
that you're on the wrong side of the battle
Because when the night comes to close
I am just a peasant of love.