[INTRO — calliope through static, spoken low] Twenty-five years. Six kids. One vow. And a door that don't open no more. [VERSE 1] I stood at that altar and I meant every word — "for better or worse," you was there, you heard. Signed it in blood on a covenant page, you countersigned, then you rewrote the stage. Twenty-five years, I kept every clause, never read the fine print where you wrote the cause: somewhere a man on his knees in the dark praying for a woman with an empty part — and you heard him. You heard him. Out of all of the prayers in the whole damn sky you picked the one that required mine to die. [HOOK] You took her from me. What happened to for better or worse? You took her from me and you gave her to another man. He was praying for an available woman — so you made one. SO YOU MADE ONE. What kind of God are you? You took her from me. [VERSE 2] I came back crawling with my hands wide open, "I'll do the work, I'll fix what's broken." They said no. Said the door that's always open — closed. Said repentance ain't a thing that you get, son, the paperwork's filed and the ink is set. The one road home that your own book swore was always open — they shut that door. Looked me dead in the face: "not for you. Not here." Then they lit up the candles and they draped the white and they married her off on a Saturday night. So don't preach me grace. Don't you preach me grace. I got denied at the only door with your name on the face. [HOOK] [VERSE 3] And I never got to stand in front of that man. Never got to look him in the eye, understand — no jury, no bench, no chance to speak, no "here's what you're taking, here's what you keep." Twice I was silenced. Twice denied. Once by a man, once by the guys in the collars who ruled that my case was closed before I could open my mouth. BEFORE I COULD OPEN MY MOUTH. So I'm bringing it here. Nowhere else to go. Court's in session in an empty pew — I plead. I plead. I plead. I plead. [BREAKDOWN — heaviest point] Step right up! See the man who kept his word! He's the freak in the back that nobody heard! Twenty-five years and he never once ran — that's the whole act, folks. That's the whole man. So which one of us were you listening to? WHICH ONE OF US DID YOU ANSWER TRUE? Was it a blessing, or was it the joke — was it mercy, or the fucking punchline where the whole thing broke? [BRIDGE — music strips back. Almost nothing.] But here's the part that turns my stomach cold. Here's the part that I ain't never told. Zoo on a Sunday. My granddaughter's day. Balloons and a birthday and a couple in my way. Every hand held. Every arm around a waist. And me standing there with sixteen months of empty space. And I closed my eyes in the middle of that crowd and I prayed. God, I prayed — "send me somebody that wants me." Same prayer. Same. Damn. Prayer. He said it, and you set a woman free. I said it, and you sent a wife to me. He asked — you opened your hand. I asked — and you gave me another man's. [POST-BRIDGE — building back, then collapsing] Fifteen months I tried to make it come out right. Tried to force a yes out of a no in the middle of the night. And every time I reached for it, I felt it go dark — 'cause you don't get to build a house in another man's yard. I know. I KNOW. I knew the whole time. I knew. [FINAL — everything drops. Bare. Spoken more than sung.] So I'm done pleading. No more case. No more court. No more asking you to give her back. I bless her. I let her go. Both of them — I let them go. And I'm saying it again. One word different this time. One word. That's all I left out. God... send me somebody that wants me. And is free to. I yield. [OUTRO — calliope alone, winding down, slowing to a stop] You took her from me. ...I yield.
