There is a saying in Sector 8: “Take care of your gear, and your gear will take care of you.” Boone “Dusty” Maddox takes that survivalist proverb and turns it into a rhythmic meditation in “Rust on the Blade.” The track is punctuated by the metallic, high-pitched shree-shree of a whetstone and the heavy, dull thud of an axe being set.
The Liturgy of Maintenance
This song isn’t about the glory of the fight; it’s about the discipline of the morning before. Boone describes the meticulous care required to keep a “broken dream” functioning. Whether it’s smoothing a nicked edge until it’s “like glass” or binding a wobbling axe handle where the cracks begin, Boone treats these tasks as a “rite.”
The lyrics deliver a stern warning to any greenhorn wanderers: “A dull blade’s a burden, a jammed gun’s a curse.” In Boone’s world, neglecting your tools is a moral failing that makes the world “get worse.”
The Steel’s Strength
There’s a grit-teeth resolve in the refrain. Even when the “oil’s near gone” and “fingers ache,” the maintenance continues. The steel becomes an extension of the survivor’s own strength—a companion that “sings” for the care it’s given. It’s a song about control in a world where everything else is falling apart; you might not be able to fix the sky, but you can damn sure make that blade gleam.
RUST ON THE BLADE
by: Boone “Dusty” Maddox
My knife’s got a nick where the rust creeps in,
Grindstone hums where the day begins.
I smooth out the edge till the steel’s like glass,
A tool’s only good if you make it last.
Oil’s near gone, just a drop to spare,
Wipe down the barrel with a careful stare.
Each scratch holds a tale of the wasteland’s toll,
I hone in the quiet, keepin’ tools whole.
Rust on the blade, but my hands stay true,
I mend what’s worn for the work I do.
One spark, one edge, one craft to tend,
My steel’s my strength till the journey’s end.
The rifle’s old, with a trigger’s creak,
Polish the stock till the wood grain speaks.
I clean it slow, though my fingers ache,
A tool’s gotta shine for survival’s sake.
The axe head wobbles, handle’s worn thin,
I bind it tight where the cracks begin.
Each tool’s a bond, each mark’s a rite,
I keep ‘em ready for the endless night.
Rust on the blade, but I’ll make it gleam,
Build up a life in a broken dream.
One file, one cloth, one vow to mend,
My steel’s my strength till the journey’s end.
A dull blade’s a burden, a jammed gun’s a curse,
Neglect your tools, and the world gets worse.
The steel don’t mind if you’re tired or spent,
It sings for the care that you give it, unbent.
Rust on the blade, but I’ll make it gleam,
Build up a life in a broken dream.
One file, one cloth, one vow to mend,
My steel’s my strength till the journey’s end.
My steel’s my strength… when the night descends.