[Verse 1] Make yourself small on paper. Make the number disappear. Funny how the money vanishes when the children need it here. Shoes wear out. Teeth still grow. School sends another bill. You don't have to worry. She will. [Chorus] She'll cover it. She always does. Food on the table, shoes on their feet, you leave the deficit, she makes ends meet. That’s the trick, isn’t it? You can give nothing and call yourself free— because whatever you don’t carry lands on her eventually. [Verse 2] Say you're doing badly. Say there's nothing left to give. Keep working. Keep playing. Keep living how you live. The children never see the break, she catches every fall. You leave the gap for her to take, she builds a bridge across it all. [Chorus] She'll cover it. She always does. Medicine. Uniforms. Lessons. Lunch. Whatever you put down, she picks back up. Whatever you call nothing, still costs someone enough. That’s the trick, isn’t it? You can afford to give nothing because she can't. [Bridge] And everybody calls it a calculation. A number. An assessment. A sum. But somewhere there's a woman doing different maths— counting what can stretch, and what has already snapped. What gets paid? What can wait? What can I sell? What can break? [Break] He knows they'll eat. He knows they'll have shoes. He knows she'll find something she can somehow lose. He knows someone will stay up when the numbers don't work out. He knows. He knows. That's why it works. [Final] She'll cover it. Until one day somebody finally asks: How does one person give nothing while another gives it all? Why is the one who carries nothing never the one who falls? Why is the one with nothing to give never the one who goes without? [Outro — almost spoken] She'll cover it. She always fucking has.
