Too Good

A Southern Gothic Ballad

[Verse 1]

She walks like Sunday morning light,
Smells like rain before a fight.
And I’m just mud on these old boots,
Tryin’ not to stain her roots.

[Verse 2]

She reads books I’ve never heard,
Turns silence into sacred words.
While I just drink and joke too loud—
A shadow trailing something proud.

[Chorus]

So what the hell am I doin’ here?
With hands like mine on something so fair?
She should be kissed by softer men—
Not someone born to break again.
But she looks at me like I’m worth a damn,
Like I ain’t just grit in the good Lord’s hand.

[Verse 3]

I flinch at love, I brace for loss,
I count the cost before the cross.
She prays with wine and candle smoke,
While I’m still choking on old jokes.

[Chorus]

So what the hell am I doin’ here?
Where grace walks in and wipes the mirror?
She should be sung in softer songs—
Not dragged through all the things I’ve done wrong.
But she holds my face like she understands—
This broken man with calloused hands.

[Bridge]

Maybe love’s not earned or owed—
Just a mercy we’re too small to hold.
Maybe she sees past the fight—
To the boy who still believes in light.

[Final Chorus]

So I’ll stay quiet, I’ll stay still,
Let her light this house I’d never fill.
She could’ve left, but she stays instead…
With a man who always bows his head.
And maybe one day I’ll believe it’s real—
That she’s mine
And I’m more
Than what I feel.