Verse 1 There’s a hammer on the table, rust on the blade, Was my granddaddy’s tool, from the time he laid track on the grade. He said, “Boy, don’t swing it angry, don’t use it for show, What you build with your hands gonna tell what you know.” Verse 2 Now the field’s grown wild, where the cotton once stood, And the barn leans east like it’s made of old wood. Fence wire hums low when the north wind moans, Ain’t no one left to claim these stones. Verse 3 Found a broken chain by the sycamore tree, Half in the dirt, half callin’ to me. It wasn’t for a man, nor a beast, nor a plow, Just a link to the past that won’t rust down now. Verse 4 I took that hammer, hit the rail one time, Heard it ring through the hills like a church bell chime. Ain’t about breakin’, it’s the mendin’ you learn, Every blow you deal got a way to return. Verse 5 Met a drifter by the river with a story half true, Said, “A chain’s only strong as the faith inside you.” I gave him that hammer, said, “Son, make it right,” He walked off whistlin’ low in the pale moonlight. Verse 6 Now I sit on the porch when the day turns gray, Hear that rail hum soft ‘bout a mile away. There’s work in the world I may never reclaim, But I still got the sound of that broken chain.
