What The Pine Boards Know

[Verse 1]
The heel of Ms. Delia’s Sunday shoe left a black mark by the door
Right where her boy’s casket scraped me back in ninety-four.
Now I smell the Pine-Sol and the coming autumn rain,
And watch you line up straight and silent, holdin' all that pain.
Same boots that tracked in coal dust now stand on a taped-out spot,
A patchwork of a county, everythin' you are and not.

[Chorus]
'Cause I know the pattern of your soles,
The little lies your posture told.
And from the sinners to the saints,
Your dust is all the same color paint.

[Verse 2]
There’s a girl with hair the color of a wild blackberry stain,
Trying not to meet the eyes of old man Abernain.
Heard him whisper to his wife, “Bless her heart, she ain’t from ‘round here.”
She just squared her shoulders, facin' down a lifetime of his fear.
He’s got a sticker on his F-150 sayin' what he thinks is true,
But the sole of his boot’s worn thin right where her sneaker’s almost new.

[Chorus]
'Cause I know the pattern of your soles,
The little lies your posture told.
And from the sinners to the saints,
Your dust is all the same color paint.

[Bridge]
I’ve held the weight of wedding dances and the quiet of the wake.
I can’t be mended, only scarred with every step you take.
Some marks fade out, some get ground in for good.
I just lie here under all of it, and wish you understood.

[Chorus]
'Cause I know the pattern of your soles,
The bitter truths your posture told.
And from the sinners to the saints,
Your dust is all the same damn color paint.