Bleeding Hands

Bleeding hands, rough and cracked

Raw from blistering winter

Calloused palms, sore feet

Skin thick from the labor of survial

Bleeding hands work till the mucle has worn away to bone

And all for my wretched sake?

Am I deserving of their sacrifice?

Let myself become something great

Something worth your suffering

That your bleeding hands would not be in vain

When I can share my success with you

Only then will I feel like my debt to you is repaid.