His old hands were brown from the varnish and the stain And I had come to talk in my youth and in my pain I told him that I was not the man I want to be I waited to see what he would say
But he just kept on working as if I wasn't there The sweat on his face and dust in his hair He paused for a moment when I'd been there for a while I turned around and thought I saw him smile
(Chorus) He said , Wood, From the earth beneath our feet there grows a tree And we can take it, shape it, to what's it's meant to be The stronger the fibre, the better for the good And son, I believe that men are just like wood."
I handed him a timber and he laid it on the bench I watched the love and care he took to measure every inch the work it got harder when he cut across the grain but he just put more shoulder to the plane
I sat there beside him as he carved out every line He made a thing of beauty from a rough old piece of pine He seem to have the vision of what the end would be I felt as if some pieces had been taken out of me
(chorus) He said , Wood.....
I left a little taller wiser, and free I learned the use of tools for the carpenter in me I don't have all the answers but one thing I have have found We are the choices that we make when the chips are down, wood.