Intro
Grandfather's saw hung by the door like a rule
Blade humming cold, teeth capped in ice, not steel
Nine winters he cut before I could reach the hook
Now the river is my ledger, and the frost is what I took
Verse 1
Four in the morning, breath like smoke off a gun
River cracked open before the rise of the sun
Sixteen years old, first time my palms touched the saw
Father said cut clean, respect the current's law
Blade bit the surface, pulled a slab thick as a door
Roped it to the sled, dragged it up from the floor
Ice house waiting, sawdust packed to the beam
Sold it by the pound to keep the icebox cold and clean
My hands split open, salt water in the crack
Wrapped them in cloth, kept working, never looked back
Learned the weight of a winter by the ache in my spine
Learned a man earns scars before he earns his time
Watched my father's knuckles swell like knots in a rope
Watched him smile anyway, said the cold's how we cope
Nine winters he gave the river, I gave it nine more
That's eighteen frozen seasons stacked against the door
Chorus
Nine winters deep, and the river still knows my name
Cut through the ice so my family wouldn't feel the same
Scars on my palms like a map to where I've been
Nine winters deep, and I'd cut it all again
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