My Name Is Yours

I carved my name in bark that won't forget,
A crooked tree that storms have never bent.
The road I walked was paved in ash and bone,
But I left signs for you when you're alone.
Be good, be proud, but never chase the crowd,
The quiet ones are often more than loud.
Fight for the truth, but learn to hear the wind,
It speaks of when to lose and when to win.
My name is yours, son, wear it well,
A rusted bell, a southern spell.
Cry if you must, but stand your ground,
Where silence speaks, let truth resound.
Your hands will bleed from holding broken things,
But still they build, like fathers, sons, and kings.
The stars don't shine for those who never fall,
So stumble proud, and answer every call.
Be strong, but let the rain run down your face,
It's not the storm, but how you leave its trace.
Forgive the ones who taught you how to fight,
And love the ones who stayed through darkest night.
My name is yours, son, wear it well,
A rusted bell, a southern spell.
Cry if you must, but stand your ground,
Where silence speaks, let truth resound.
I'm just a shadow carved in old regret,
But you're the fire I never could forget.
So take this name and make it something new,
A blade of grass that cuts the morning dew.
My name is yours, son, wear it proud,
A thunder hymn, not sung too loud.
Cry if you must, but rise again,
Like rivers born from tears of men.