[Verse 1]
He came up black-lung country
Coal dust in his lungs
Bible in his hand
Beat-up boots
Secondhand suit
Lead drummer in the little church band
Thunder on the cymbals Sunday
Then he walked right off that stage
Said
"I’m tired of talkin’ about heaven
While my own heart’s locked in a cage"
[Chorus]
Backsliders and boxing gloves
Ink up to his neck
But he still hears love
All that weight on a bar
Never lifted enough
To push that calling off his chest
He’s got scars
He’s got stories
He’s got film in his hands and a ghost in his voice
Covered in tattoos
Running from the truth
But he still sounds like a preacher to me
[Verse 2]
First it was iron and mirrors
Stacking plates
Chasing some new high
Then the bell
Bright lights
Blood on canvas
Every hit just asking "why"
Traded ropes for old cameras
Catching strangers in the sun
But every shutter sounds like "brother"
Every frame
"thy will be done"
[Chorus]
Backsliders and boxing gloves
Ink up to his neck
But he still hears love
All that weight on a bar
Never lifted enough
To push that calling off his chest
He’s got scars
He’s got stories
He’s got film in his hands and a ghost in his voice
Covered in tattoos
Running from the truth
But he still sounds like a preacher to me
[Bridge]
Maybe the pulpit moved
To the ring
To the gym
To the viewfinder glass (oh)
Maybe the sermon’s in the struggle
In the questions he can’t get past
But some nights he whispers verses
Like he’s back behind that stand
Hands shaking like the snare rolls
Waiting on the choir to land
[Chorus]
Backsliders and boxing gloves
Ink up to his neck
But he still hears love
All that weight on a bar
Never lifted enough
To push that calling off his chest
He’s got scars
He’s got stories
He’s got film in his hands and a ghost in his voice
Covered in tattoos
Running from the truth
But he still sounds like a preacher to me
(Yeah, he still sounds like a preacher)
He still sounds like a preacher to me