There is dirt on my palms
Dirt I say
Dirt!
It's on the palm of my palms
And on the dirt of the dirt
On my palms
The murkier the waters
The muddier the hand
As the rice sinks deeper
And deeper
The harvest will come
yes it will come
and my old hoe and boots
will be dirt-less
the specks of dirt upon
my metal will disappear
clean my boots will be
but when the hoe's
job is done
and the boots are mighty clean
then it's the slasher's time
for a bath in the dirt
We like to sing as we dig
Like the bees that sing
before they sting
They salsa around us
and without notice
ouch!
Now there is a sting
on my skin
stung by the buzzing
orchestra
and another
Like naughty children
they don't listen when
you yell,
Go away!
They'll go on
They'll head on
singing in the sun
In the dambo by the creek
is where we work
we work to eat
sometimes we eat as we work
chewing as we dig
we dig
I could dig a grave
I say
The chewing stops
The yelling starts
Dirty fingers point
I could
I say
The singing quits
the starring starts
dirty fingers point!
One day this rice
will be my way out
up to where the cities are lit
and the music plays loud
A grain at a time
I dig as i plan
I'm digging
my escape
my escape from the dirt
my escape to being essential
