The Tiny Bird that Won't Stop (Peckerwood)

Lyrics

[Intro]

[Verse 1]
Back in the hollers near Asheville, North Carolina,
that trail John Muir walked in 1878, forty years old,
I heard it first, that tiny bird that won't stop.
Peckerwood, they called it, hammering the hickory bark,
rough flakes peeling under my fingers at dawn, six in the morning.
Fifty degrees, pine resin sticking to my boots,
and that staccato tap-tap-tap echoing like a stubborn heartbeat.

[Chorus]
Peckerwood, peckerwood, won't you quit your noise?
Drumming on that old hickory from 1902,
the one with holes like Swiss cheese from your beak.
Mrs. Patterson, she won't say the word,
turns red as a beetroot, but I tell ya,
it's just a bird, small as my thumb,
persistent as Cousin Hornswoggle himself.

[Verse 2]
John Muir wrote it down in his journal, 1916 edition,
'woodpeckers at work on a great many trees,' he said,
their tapping in every direction, like loggers with tiny axes.
I saw one once, red head flashing in the cool air,
beak chisel-sharp, digging for grubs in the bark.
Appalachian folks'd call ya one if you're headstrong,
won't back down, just like that bird on the trail.

[Bridge]
Now here on Point Nemo, no mountains, no trails,
but I swear I hear it sometimes, that relentless peck.
Mrs. Patterson covers her ears, won't utter 'peckerwood,'
but it's innocent, like cornbread crumbling in your hand,
warm from the skillet, shared at sunrise.

[Verse 3]
Imagine Muir pausing, binoculars raised,
watching that feathered fury attack the trunk,
smell of damp earth and resin filling his lungs.
That's the bird, tiny terror of the trees,
won't stop for rain or wind or weary travelers.

[Outro]
Peckerwood, keep on pecking, you stubborn soul.
From Asheville to this rock in the sea,
your rhythm's in my bones.