Lyrics

Let me tell you ‘bout a man wore silence like a coat,
Could plow a field or string a line from valley up to throat.
Read that Bible cover-to-cover, never missed a day in church,
But if you knew what I know now—you’d know he did more work.

He fought in Italy, laid cable in the dust,
Watched mountains move and tanks go still, in nothin’ left to trust.
Came home to a baby boy who cried when he came near,
So he learned to carry pain in quiet—like a mule that don’t show fear.


My Granddaddy hunted witches, but not the kind you think—
No cauldrons, no black hats, no fire, smoke, or stink.
They smiled just like your neighbor, with pie upon the sill—
But their hands would buy the poison, and they knew just who to kill.

He’d say, “Wrong don’t always shout, son—it slides in from the side.
It don’t knock, it don’t sneak, it just sits and waits inside.
And when the dog stops barkin’, and the air feels cold and near—
You ain’t alone no more, boy. The Thing is very clear.”


I once saw him stare a woman down who smiled through her girl’s wake,
And I swear the way she blinked, you’d think her face might break.
He never said her name, but he never turned his back—
And that house went dark forever when she vanished down the track.

Yeah, my Granddaddy hunted witches, with eyes like sharpened steel,
No torch, no silver bullets—just a look that made you kneel.
He knew when land was troubled, when the floorboards whispered low—
And when he drew that Bible open, even shadows learned to go.

He said “The Devil don’t come howlin’, he comes countin’ change.
He files your paperwork, and makes you feel real strange.
You’ll know him by the way the air forgets to move at all—
And how the door behind you starts leanin' in the wall.”

So if I stop mid-sentence, or look off at nothin’ there—
It’s ‘cause I feel a weight shift just beneath the prayer.
And I still hear Granddaddy hummin’ when the sky turns copper gray—
He taught me how to know the ones who smile and walk away.