Hillbilly Dreams

“Hillbilly Dreams”
A poem by Jeff DeMarco

There’s a plant outside of a nowhere town,
Where the graveyard shift keeps breaking him down
Machining metal and breathing dust all night,
Watching half his life get hauled out of sight

Yeah, he sold his soul for hillbilly dreams,
For little more than what surviving means
He used to swear he’d make it out somehow,
Funny how the man stays silent now

He hears folks singing on the radio,
About “Rich Men North of Richmond” woes
But Oliver Anthony cashed his pain,
Then shook hands and helped elect the ones who run that game

He sold his soul for hillbilly dreams,
For a life that’s smaller than it seems
For a hundred thousand quiet scars,
And a sky full of unreachable stars

’Cause the bosses still buy their second homes,
While men like him wear their bodies to bone
Still clocking in and showing up every day,
Still swallowing every cut they make

Yeah, he sold his soul for hillbilly dreams,
And somewhere beneath those factory screams
A younger man still softly cries,
For the life he watched pass him by…