Thrill of the Struggle

The fire has burned, while you were gone. Life in the North goes on without you.

The fire will burn, with you or not. My passion will overcome.

Year’s end, coming home, and what do I have to show for myself?

I amount to nothing more, than what they understand.

Feel the sense of confusion, for your wins you cannot explain.

See the lack of comprehension, over the ground you worked so hard to gain.

The fire has burned, while you were gone.

The fire will burn, with you or not.

We live for the thrill of the struggle.

We live for the love of our sorrows.

I fight the fight I can never win, but I fight the fight for the fight itself.

And so I am rich with failure? Brutal north, bring me down again.

I guess these are the risks you take, when you’ve been gone for so many years.

Would they even look up from their tables, if suddenly you appeared?

I stood at the foot of the steel mill, like a metaphor of northern time.

I watched them burn off the excess, flames to the sky

So many small losses, for one giant gain

Land-marked with quiet victories spent alone along the way

Now I wander the streets as out of place as the day I left

No better off. Nothing has changed. These are the risks we take...I guess?