[INTRO — instrumental, stomping upright bass, tense drums] [VERSE 1 — agitated, tight] The suit don't fit — that's the first thing (first thing) Shoulders like a coat hanger, sleeves like spring Cleaning out the closet, Mama said take it Interview's at ten — what am I, too proud to fake it? It's my father's — grey, a little shine at the knee Smells like cedar and the cigarettes he quit in '93 I stand in the mirror and there's two of us there My face, his shoulders, somebody's lucky tie I wear Crooked — he wore it crooked too — I got the photo Him at some banquet, tie swinging like a logo Of a man who dressed up twice a year exactly Funerals and interviews — he said they're the same, actually You show up, you stand straight, you hope for the best You let them look at the suit and not at the rest [HOOK — cracked, half-yelled] The suit, the suit (stand straight) Three sizes of a man I can't replace The suit, the suit (stand straight) If the jacket fits the part, I can play the face (the suit) [VERSE 2 — whisper cracking up to yell] Interview room, three people, one plant (one plant) They ask about a gap year — I say: yes — I can't Explain that year out loud in a room like this So I say family needs — and I let the sentence sit The middle interviewer softens — she's got a father too You can see it — there's a club of us, we grew In the waiting rooms of hospitals, we're everywhere She asks my greatest strength and I almost say this: I wear A dead man's shoulders and I still stand up straight Instead I say: reliable — I show up early, I stay late I close my eyes a second — feel the cedar in the thread And I swear the suit sits warmer — like a hand upon my head They said we'll call you Friday — I believe them, maybe Either way I walked in taller than the man they gave me Credit to — and Mama cried when she saw me in the door Said he got it — and I said I know — that's what it's for [BRIDGE — bass only, voice bare] It's hanging back in the closet now Next to his bowling shirts and one brown belt Mama keeps saying give it away I keep saying — not yet — some grief you wear Until it fits [HOOK — cracked, half-yelled] The suit, the suit (stand straight) Three sizes of a man I can't replace The suit, the suit (stand straight) If the jacket fits the part, I can play the face (the suit) [OUTRO — sax fades over brushes] (the suit...) Not yet, Mama It almost fits
