Jim loves in the pines of eastern Alabama,
Makes a livin' building caskets for the dead men
Who's up next, who's lost breath nobody knows,
All thats known is where all Jim's caskets go.
In each plain stroke in each stain soak, Jim takes his time,
Knowing good and well he may just be the next in line.
When all is done he close the lid and says a prayer,
John:13 the time to leave ain't always fair.
He'll be signing when you're 6 feet deep in the cold hard ground,
Take a shovel full of dirt, lay it all on down,
Some things are just best left undone.
With every Pinebox there's another soul,
Another set of stories that are left untold
Sun sinking and the lights have all grown dim,
For Pinebox Jim.
Carved by hand, north Birmingham for 80 years,
Helping families see the light
His comfort in their suffering goes as this,
His promises preserves their life.
Late one night in walks a lonesome hospice nurse,
Time of death 3:13.
Last Pinebox Jim ever made lies in a hearse,
While the angel voices ring.
He'll be signing when you're 6 feet deep in the cold hard ground,
Take a shovel full of dirt, lay it all on down,
Some things are just best left undone.
With every Pinebox there's another soul,
Another set of stories that are left untold
Sun sinking and the lights have all grown dim,
For Pinebox Jim.
For Pinebox Jim.
For Pinebox Jim.