[Intro | D Major | 84 BPM | fingerpicked acoustic guitar, upright bass] Her name is Bridgette. She loves her dog. That's about all I know. She knows everything about me. [Verse 1 | acoustic guitar, upright bass] I sit down She says, "How have you been?" I say, "Fine." We both know That's not true. So I tell her About the things I don't tell people. The things That keep me awake. The things That make me afraid. The things I wish my brain Would stop doing. She takes notes. I stare at the floor. And somehow This is supposed To help. [Pre-Chorus | mandolin enters softly] It's strange To tell a stranger Where it hurts And trust them Not to use it as ammunition. [Chorus | full band, restrained fuzzy electric guitar] We spend an hour Talking about me Like I'm some puzzle She might help me solve She gives me a tool I try to use Sometimes it works Sometimes it doesn't Sometimes I just cry And that's the work [Verse 2 | brushed drums enter] She asks why I said that. I say, "I don't know." She asks what I was feeling. I say, "Probably everything." She says, "Let's slow down." So I breathe. She teaches me How to notice The thought Before I follow it. Sometimes I roll my eyes. Sometimes I use the trick Three days later And realize She was right. [Pre-Chorus | mandolin and clean electric guitar] It's strange How much a person Can know about you Without knowing Your favorite song. [Chorus | fuller fuzzy electric guitars] We spend an hour Talking about me Every little failure Every old memory She gives me a tool I try to use Sometimes it works Sometimes it doesn't Sometimes I just cry And that's the work [Verse 3 | electric guitar grows, bass more melodic] Sometimes The appointment Doesn't fix a damn thing. I leave With swollen eyes And a headache And another thing I didn't want To understand. Sometimes I hate therapy. Sometimes I hate myself. Sometimes I think The whole damn process Is just paying someone To remind me How complicated I am. Then something Changes. Not much. Just enough To notice. The thought Is still there. It just isn't Driving anymore. [Bridge | stripped acoustic guitar, upright bass] She doesn't know What it feels like To be me. She can't. That's not her job. She just listens Long enough For me to hear myself. And that's the strangest part. I've spent my whole life Trying to explain What hurts. And somebody Finally taught me How to listen When it does. [Bridge Build | mandolin tremolo, brushed drums, fuzzy electric guitar swells] I cry. I stop crying. I laugh at something stupid. Then I cry again. She hands me a tissue. I apologize. She says, "You don't have to." I say, "Thank you. Have a great rest Of your day." Like we didn't just spend An hour Walking around Inside my head. [Final Chorus | full band, warm fuzzy electric guitars] We spend an hour Talking about me And I leave a little more free Not fixed Not cured Not suddenly new Just a little better At knowing what to do The next appointment Will probably wreck me I'll probably cry again And I'll probably thank her Like she's not just doing a job Because technically She is [Outro | acoustic guitar only] But you had to want to help The hopeless To choose this life. You had to hear A stranger's worst days And still come back tomorrow. So thanks, Bridgette. I know It's your job. I just hope you know It matters. [Final chord] She loves her dog. That's still About all I know about her.
