Butler's Mill: The First Grind

Lyrics

[Intro]
The water spoke first.
Down from the ridge, over the red clay.
Before the name, before the road was cut wide.
Just Peachtree Creek, talking to itself in the shade.

[Verse 1]
Benjamin F. Butler, he heard it.
Eighteen thirty-something.
He brought the axe, he brought the plan.
Laid the timbers heavy on the bank.
Found the granite, the chert for the teeth.
And taught the water a new song.
A new rhythm for the work.

[Chorus]
The slow turn, the heavy grind.
Dust in the air, a golden haze.
Corn from the field, life from the stone.
Butler's Mill, grinding the days.
One sack at a time.
The first pulse in the vein.

[Verse 2]
A morning in eighteen forty-five.
The squeak of an axle, a tired mule.
Burlap sacks, a hundred pounds of hope.
Farmers wait their turn, leaning on the wall.
Trading news, the price of cotton, the coming rain.
Breathing in the proof of the harvest.
The sweet, warm smell of meal.

[Chorus]
The slow turn, the heavy grind.
Dust in the air, a golden haze.
Corn from the field, life from the stone.
Butler's Mill, grinding the days.
One sack at a time.
The first pulse in the vein.

[Bridge]
The stones are quiet now.
The timbers are gone to dust.
But the asphalt follows the path the wagons wore down.
And the creek still runs under the concrete and steel.
You can almost hear it, if you listen past the traffic.
The ghost of that first, steady grind.
Shaping the land before the map was ever drawn.

[Outro]
Grinding the days...
One sack at a time...
The slow turn...
The heavy grind...