Intro
Grandmother's hands, needle and thread
Stitching the seams of what we were fed
Every hole plugged, every hem held
Stories don't tell themselves
Verse 1
Started at the mill gate, five in the morning, lint in the air
Shift whistle blew like a starter's gun, everybody moving toward where
The looms were humming, fingers dancing cross the cloth
Grandmother worked the same frame thirty years, she never came off
Paid by the yard, not the hour—that was how they kept you lean
She'd bring her own needle, sharpen it, keep the stitches clean
Said the seam's your signature, child, every thread knows your name
Bosses change, the building burns, but the cloth stays just the same
She'd take her pay home, feed five kids on what a man made in a week
Wore the same blue dress to work, said exhaustion shouldn't speak
Her hands were mapped like factory floors, calluses thick as leather boots
But she braided my sister's hair soft, taught us all the roots
Never complained about the weight, never asked for easier ground
Just said survival's just precision—stitch by stitch, round and round
Pre-Chorus
When the mill closed down, everybody scattered, looking for the next shift
She stayed behind one evening, ran her palms across the loom like it was scripture
Said the work don't disappear, it just moves to the next hungry mouth
But the ones who know the pattern, they don't ever run out
Chorus
Needle in my blood now, thread running through my veins
Every stitch a prayer, every pull against the strain
Needle in my blood now, keeping what we made
What the mill gave us, what the mill can't take
Verse 2
Taught my mother's mother's daughter how to read a pattern close
How to catch a broken seam before it tears the whole thing most
How to make a dollar last when the company cuts your days
How to keep your dignity when the work don't ever pay
I'm still threading needles in the dark, pulling fabric tight
Every knot a promise, every loop a fight
Not for glory, not for gold—just to keep the line from breaking
Every hand that comes after mine, I'm taking what she's making
The mill's a memory now, all the buildings turned to rust
But the rhythm lives inside us, needle moving, never bust
This is how we survived, this is how we endure
Not by running from the work—by knowing what we're sure
Bridge
Fingers flew like birds trapped in wire
But they never clipped her wings
Never dimmed her fire
She was more than what they measured
More than yards and seams
She was the wealth we kept, the dream beneath the dream
Verse 3
Now I see her in the young ones picking up the trade
Learning where the rhythm lives, where the patterns fade
They don't know her name but they know her hands
Stitching futures, understanding where the strength stands
This is how legends rise, not in brass or stone
In the knowledge passed along, turning thread to throne
Every seam she stitched, every nail she held
Built the foundation that the stories tell
Outro
Needle in my blood now
