Man Glitter

Through the pine-dark evening, something golden starts to rise,

A stranger in a red shirt with a question in his eyes.

He steps out of the shadows where the old machines sleep,

With a saw in both his hands and a promise buried deep.

The forest holds its silence, the workbench waits nearby,

Dust turns into starlight as the sparks begin to fly.

Is it sawdust in the air,

Or a little bit of magic there?

You mean man glitter, shining in the light,

Golden clouds are dancing through the midnight night.

Every cut and every scar becomes a story told,

You mean man glitter—turning rough wood into gold.

A curl upon the floorboards, a whisper from the grain,

The hammer keeps a heartbeat like a slow and steady train.

No crown and no cathedral, just two hands making do,

But beauty hides in ordinary things when someone sees them through.

Is it sawdust on his sleeve,

Or a dream he won’t let leave?

You mean man glitter, shining in the light,

Golden clouds are dancing through the midnight night.

Every cut and every scar becomes a story told,

You mean man glitter—turning rough wood into gold.

So let the dark woods tremble,

Let the bright dust fall,

There’s a little art in labor,

There’s a little hope in all.

When the final blade is silent

And the morning finds the floor,

He’ll leave behind a shimmer

And a reason to make more.

You mean man glitter, rising like a flame,

Every grain remembers how the maker came.

From the shadow to the sunrise, watch the quiet colors roll—

You mean man glitter, golden-hearted soul.

Sawdust in the moonlight,

Bright trails on the floor—

A little bit of wonder

From the work we’re living for.