Jim Hindrex Didn’t Die But Is Chopping Down Mountains With The Edge Of His Hand In Mountana

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The rain on the granite, a steady fallin' sound,
Word came up from Missoula Jim Hindrex was in the ground.
But the pines they whispered different, a low and knowin' hum,
Said the man who left the livin' had a new kingdom to come.

Now they say up in Montana, where the sky touches the stone,
There's a shadow cuttin' canyons out there on his own.
Not with a pick or a axe-blade, no ordinary plan,
Just a choppin' down the mountains with the edge of his hand.

Met a drifter on the Great Divide, said his fire was burnin' low,
Saw a light upon the ridgeline, twenty summers ago.
Saw the dust rise like a spirit, heard the thunderin' command,
Was old Jim Hindrex carvin' truth with the edge of his hand.

The eagles bring him tidings, the river sings his name,
He's unbuildin' all the glory, he's playin' a different game.
The rocks just split and shiver, they don't even understand,
They just yield unto the spirit in the edge of his hand.

So if you're lost up in the Bitterroots and your own path can't be found,
Just listen for the rhythm, that steady, grindin' sound.
It ain't the man they buried, it's the one who owns the land,
Chopping down the mountains with the edge of his hand.
Yeah, just choppin' down the mountains with the edge of his hand.