BLOOD IN THE SOIL

But this is how the true are born.
Scars on the skin, mud on the wheel,
Learning exactly how the hunger feels.
Nobody is coming to save the day; you have to build it your own way.
Pick up the tools, carry the stone,
Build up the kingdom on your own.
We plant the seed in the bitter cold,
We buy the time that is never sold.
The back is aching, the hands are torn,
But this is how the true are born.