[Verse 1: Post-grunge male lead, hard slow-burn drums, thick downtuned guitars] Got the call on a Tuesday when I was under a truck Knew it from the ringtone, knew we'd finally run out of luck Danny from the second grade, Danny from the creek Danny with the busted tooth who couldn't sit still for a week Every dumb idea I had, he was already there Every fight I ever lost, he came flyin' through the air Now I'm standin' on the hill in a pair of borrowed gloves And they hand me half the flag off the box of the kid I loved [Hook: Post-grunge male lead, full band, huge post-grunge hook] I fold it thirteen times, but I don't fold Tuck the stars in tight like I was told Hand it to your mama, I'm standin' cold I fold it for you, brother, but I don't fold [Verse 2: Post-grunge male lead, fat bass guitar, thick downtuned guitars] Sergeant on the other end, he does this every week Watchin' my hands shakin', and he doesn't dare to speak First fold is the bike we stole, the second is the lake Third fold is the night he took the hit for my mistake Fourth one is the mornin' that he shipped out at the gate Five and six and seven, I can't see, but I keep it straight Eight through twelve I'm bitin' on the inside of my cheek Thirteen, it's a triangle, the stars up, tight and neat His mama's in the front row with her hands out flat I put the whole of him in 'em and I take a step back [Hook: Post-grunge male lead, full band, huge post-grunge hook] I fold it thirteen times, but I don't fold Tuck the stars in tight like I was told Hand it to your mama, I'm standin' cold I fold it for you, brother, but I don't fold [Bridge: Post-grunge male lead, parade rudiment, a lone marching snare plays a slow parade rudiment under the guitars] Then she stands up slow and she walks to me Puts the flag against my chest where my heart should be Says he left a letter in the drawer beside his bed If I don't come back, give the flag to Ray, he said 'Cause that boy never folded, not one time in his life So I'm standin' on the hill with the flag and his mama's eyes Brother, I'mma carry it, I'mma carry it right Every corner tucked in, every star held tight [Final Hook: Post-grunge male lead, full band, the marching snare under it, biggest post-grunge hook] I fold it thirteen times, but I don't fold Tuck the stars in tight like I was told Hand it to your mama, I'm standin' cold I fold it for you, brother, but I don't fold [End]
