Verse 1 You make the tea and leave your thumbprints on the rim, You hang the coat just so — the room forgives the dim. I learn to hold a sentence not to finish what you say, I fold my hurry into pockets and let some minutes stay. Pre-Chorus No lesson, no command — just apprenticeship of small, We trade the heavy rhetoric for how the hands will fall. Chorus How to love better — do the quiet thing again, Fold the page, mend the seam, walk the dog in rain. How to love better — not with silver lines or charts, But with the daily courtesies that steady fragile hearts. Verse 2 You fix the lamp that wobbles on the shelf where jars collect, You show the kid how to tie the lace with patience, not neglect. I call your mother on a Tuesday when the sky is thin, We trade our practiced distance for the practice that is kin. Pre-Chorus It’s not a sacred manual — it’s the homework that we choose, A thousand tiny niceties that teach us how to lose Chorus How to love better — do the quiet thing again, Fold the page, mend the seam, walk the dog in rain. How to love better — not with silver lines or charts, But with the daily courtesies that steady fragile hearts. Bridge (duet, call-and-response) “You need a coat?” — “No, I’m fine.” — “Climb in anyway.” “You want to talk?” — “Not yet.” — “Then hum until the day.” Final Chorus (with soft gospel lift) How to love better — we’ll keep learning as we go, One coffee, one apology, one late-night window glow. How to love better — nothing etched in stone or glue, Just the way you set the table when there’s only room for two.
