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Same Damned Land by masterg

SongGPT
Same Damned Land by masterg - Gritty Country music cover art

Same Damned Land

Gritty Country

0:004:02
Lyrics
Description
Outro
Tailgate down, red dust paints the evening sky, Tim's thumb finds a Bosse, colder than a lie.
Ryan rubs the cigarette ash off his sleeve, He keeps a burned up letter that he won't let leave.
Embers pop like secrets when the night gets thin, They trade small talk for stories stitched beneath the skin.
Ryan spits the fire, Tim's got Bosse in his hands, Two cracked hearts rolling down the same damned land.
Scars in the dust, still they learn to stay, Grit on their tongues, they'll ride the night away.
A busted pickup hums the songs of older years, A porch light left on for mornings soaked in tears.
Tim hums an older frame, keeps the bottle near his side, While Ryan drives too fast to feel what he'll confide.
A gas station neon flickers like a worn out hymn, People point and whisper but they never know the skin.
Ryan spits the fire, Tim's got Bosse in his hands, Two cracked hearts rolling down the same damned land.
Scars in the dust, still they learn to stay, Grit on their tongues, they'll ride the night away.
One winter kitchen fever burned through bone and pride, Ryan mumbles ragged lines, can't find where truth might hide.
Tim pours the bottle steady, never asks for proof or thanks, Ryan laughs, call me what you want, and folds into the ranks.
Yeah, they call me a wanker, he spits and then he grins, Pride breaks like cheap glass, the healing starts within.
Ash drifts off fingertips, the boss breathes a low relief, Two men with broken maps, finding footsteps past belief.
Ryan spits the fire, Tim's got Bosse in his hands, Two cracked hearts learn the shape of other plans.
Scars in the dust, but they turn here to stay, Grit on their tongues, they'll chase the dawn away.
Morning comes like mercy, cheap light on dented steel, Empty bottle warms a memory of what is real.
They pass the last, the bosses share a quiet kind of grace, By boss and by fire they find a common place.
Ryan spits the fire, Tim holds the glass so steady, Two worn out friends, two weary roads made ready.
Grit on their tongues, they choose to stay, Rolling in the same damn land, riding night to day.
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