A Kindling Kind of Quiet

[Verse 1]
The Ryobi saw screams through a two-by-four next door.
He's building her a cradle on the porch.
A Tuesday evening, first week of July,
Smell of pine dust and the coming Gulf sky.
He sands the edges, careful and so slow,
For hands too small for anyone to know.

[Chorus]
And it's a kindling kind of quiet in that house tonight,
A fury burning gentle in the fading kitchen light.
God help the man who builds a world with one hand,
And tears a seam with the other, 'cause he don't understand.

[Verse 2]
She's standing at the window, back against the pane,
A silhouette of waiting for the rain.
He sets the drill down, wipes his dusty brow,
And the silence between them is deafening now.
"It's a girl," he said just yesterday by the mail,
Now that promise is a fresh nail, waiting for the fail.

[Chorus]
And it's a kindling kind of quiet in that house tonight,
A fury burning gentle in the fading kitchen light.
God help the man who builds a world with one hand,
And tears a seam with the other, 'cause he don't understand.

[Bridge]
You can't darn a promise that's been ripped clean through.
Some knots, once you pull them, you can never undo.

[Outro]
The first drops hit the tin roof, a mournful, steady beat.
The cradle sits unfinished in the heat.