作词: 张健
作曲: 张健
The callus is the day's own stamp.
Pressed in, and never washed away.
Gray sits in the palm lines; three rinses cannot get it clean.
The web of the thumb has hardened up from where it's been.
A palm held open beats a wallet, beats a card.
The strength is true — the proof is in the hard.
The ledger counts the units; the early hours go unpaid.
Out before the light, back after dark — the hours, unweighed.
A blister breaks, then heals; the skin peels, and builds once more.
The third layer teaches what the long haul is for.
The calluses — harder than a metal pin.
The calluses — older than a framed win.
The calluses — scraped and pressed and won't come loose.
Open both hands — that's a résumé and proof.
A blister broke, then closed, then rose, and healed, and grew.
Three layers deep, and now the hand knows what to do.
The marks across the palm won't show on any blueprint sheet.
But every single groove runs down to food and heat.
A nail driven deeper holds a heavier load.
A craft worked longer finds a longer road.
The hand that grips a handle learns the grain inside.
The callus is a badge the days decided to provide.
The calluses — harder than a metal pin.
The calluses — older than a framed win.
The calluses — scraped and pressed and won't come loose.
Open both hands — that's a résumé and proof.
A callus is not a wound.
It's a seal the days press down.
A ledger kept in skin —
A page that holds its ground.
Nothing done is thrown away —
It lives inside the skin and makes no sound.
The calluses — harder than a metal pin.
The calluses — older than a framed win.
The calluses — scraped and pressed and won't come loose.
Open both hands — that's a résumé, and every line is proof.
The hand never lies.
The days never lie to a hand.
