[INTRO — instrumental, bowed bass, brushed drums, sax breath] [VERSE 1 — hushed, weathered] Church basement, folding chairs, the urn of coffee (coffee) Bad coffee — sacred — that's the first thing they teach you here Tonight's a birthday night — chips in a basket A year is bronze, three years is — whatever — grab it When they call the years — three years — and my legs Stand up before my courage does, and Peggy From the front row says my name like it's a bell And the walk to the front is the shortest mile in hell Turned hallway — hands shaking — not from the want From the weight of the faces — everybody's aunt And uncle and son and almost-was is here Three years of Thursdays, chip by chip, year by year I hold it up — little coin — and it catches light Like a manhole moon — and I tell them about the night It started — the kitchen floor — my daughter's backpack On the table — her drawing — me deciding to come back [BRIDGE — brushes only, voice bare] Nobody claps for the days you don't fall So we built a basement where we do Church upstairs gets the singing We get the staying — that's a worship too [HOOK — cracked, open-throated] Three years, three years (one more) Day at a time, that's the whole score Three years, three years (one more) The chip is small — the hand it fills is more (three years) [VERSE 2 — rising, cracked] I tell them about month one — the shakes, the sweats Month six — the dreaming of it, waking up in debts Of sweat — year one, my daughter asked me if I'm better now And I said: I'm a work in progress, and she said wow Like I was a science fair — and I was Two years — the funeral I got through with nothing but Bad coffee and Peggy's number on a napkin's back Three years — I got a sponsee now, a kid named Jack Who calls me at two A.M. and I pick up, awake 'Cause somebody picked up for me — that's the give and take The chip goes in my pocket with the other two Three little coins that weigh a life — and it's true What they say down here — it works if you work it And I'm working — I'm working — every Thursday, I'm worth it [HOOK — cracked, open-throated] Three years, three years (one more) Day at a time, that's the whole score Three years, three years (one more) The chip is small — the hand it fills is more (three years) [OUTRO — bowed bass fades, one sax note] (three years...) Jack, I know it's two A.M. Yeah — talk to me
