Dirt on My Hands

I'm still here, after, the snow has cleared My soul is bare, in the, changing air My weathered brow, and a, hand on the plow Plant the seed, and it's, all we will need When I'm digging down into the mortal clay And January's grip gets cast away I wanna go and dance on the breeze I'm still here, when the, clouds all clear It's in my blood, to be, waiting on the flood And I'm old and wise, see it, in my blue eyes Till this land, and get, dirt on my hands When I'm digging down into the mortal clay And January's grip gets cast away I wanna go and dance on the breeze Just like the leaves on the trees