dig deeper eugene woody

Standing in front of the grave where the past was buried/ Armed with a spade and a pickaxe/ I drop to one knee and grab a handful of earth. my fingers begin to grind the cold clump of soil/my eyes fixed on the tombstone directly in front of me. it read "a buried past of sorrow and pain, birthed a future of fearless living"/I swore I would not be back here, unearthing painful memories/but I left something important in this tomb/the lessons I learned from the life I lived are too important to be buried and forgotten/the wisdom accumulated was buried as well, and to leave it would make the past prologue/there will be no regression, because my future depends on progress/the cold air has chilled the the earth, hardening it's surface/I grab the pickaxe and trow it over my shoulder/my mind begins to lock in to the task at hand/I am aware that I will be forced to relive it all, but I need to remember what made me/my grip tightens on the pickaxe and my muscles tense and flex in the cold autumn air/I raise my head to the cloud filled sky, where the moon has a front row seat/I close my eye's and relax my body/ a phrase begins to play in my mind, "dig deep eugene woody, dig deep"/I break from my trance like state and remember that I hold the pickaxe/It has become an extension of me/I rise the pickaxe high in the cold autumn air, the moons light holds on to my goose bumps/I strike the earth with brute force and primal aggression/the pickaxe rips through the soil like a hot knife through butter/dig deep eugene woody, dig deep/I continue to strike the earth as hard as I can, each strike more brute then the last/the moon seems amused in my action/ it seems to draw itself closer to me with each strike I apply to this sacred soil/I pause to wipe  my brow of sweat and switch to the spade/I shot a glance at the moon and smiled at its presence/dig deep Eugene woody, dig deep/the spade lifts the loosened earth out of the disturb plot/my excavation of memories buried reaches a fever pitch/digging with passion, digging with a purpose, dig deep Eugene woody, dig deep/the sweat pours from my brow now and I am drenched in it/I refuse to relax my grip on the spade and a direct result of this is my hands becoming raw/this is taxing, but dig deeper/the spade rips through earth until it bangs against a metal casket, the resting place of pain/I toss the spade to the side and I lift the upper potion of the casket/the memories rush into my body as if they missed tormenting me/they try to dig deep into my soul but are met with a new resistance/pain can barely penetrate my surface/I rise my head to the moon that watched me all night, dig deep in the cold autumn air/I remember the lessons burned into my skin from the fire of past infernos/I can never forget the lessons I learned/but most importantly I can never forget to dig deeper Eugene woody, dig deeper.       thanks for the motivation.