# BEFORE THE SUN COMES UP **Written by Brian Ketchum** [Intro – Haunting two-bar fiddle hook over steady acoustic guitar and restrained banjo. Serious Appalachian country atmosphere. No cheerful bounce.] [Verse 1 – Smooth male mid-baritone, intimate and conversational.] Three fifteen, the radio cracked, A baby on the way. We pulled up to a little house, The porch light showed the steps. Her husband met us barefoot, A towel in his hand. He led us down the hallway, Said, "Please do what you can." [Verse 2 – Steady acoustic rhythm, soft fiddle underneath. Tender but not celebratory.] She caught my sleeve and held on tight, Her husband knelt beside her. The baby came into my hands, I cleared his mouth and nose. We clamped the cord and cut it, Made sure that he was breathing. I placed him in his mother's arms, She held him close against her. [Chorus 1 – Strong, memorable melody. Restrained instrumental lift, bittersweet rather than joyful.] Before the sun comes up, We're rolling toward the ER. She holds him close against her chest, His daddy sitting near. One tiny hand beneath her chin, Her fingers wrapped around. The ambulance keeps moving, And she won't put him down. [Verse 3 – Steady pulse continues. Fiddle becomes darker and more restrained.] We brought them both into the ER, And gave the staff our report. We hadn't made it to the truck When dispatch called once more. A daughter couldn't wake her dad, We headed down her road. The sky was turning lighter As we pulled up to her home. [Verse 4 – Sparse acoustic guitar and upright bass. Low, sustained fiddle notes.] She met us at the bedroom door, Still wearing her nightclothes. "He won't wake up," she told me, "Can you please come look at him?" His glasses lay beside the bed, His slippers on the floor. She stood behind my shoulder, Watching everything I did. [Verse 5 – Intimate, restrained vocal. Instruments remain quiet beneath the words. No dramatic pause.] She asked me, "Can you wake him?" I knelt beside his bed. I checked him while she waited, Then stood beside the chair. I couldn't meet her eyes. "I'm sorry. Your father's passed away." Her hand stayed on the doorframe. She didn't turn away. [Chorus 2 – Same chorus melody. Darker fiddle, restrained acoustic rhythm, no uplifting swell.] Before the sun comes up, We're driving back toward home. The sky is turning brighter, The radio is low. Her hand upon the doorframe, Her father's glasses near. I see her standing in that room Though we're no longer there. [Bridge – Quiet acoustic guitar and upright bass. Fiddle answers with long, mournful notes. Natural vocal delivery.] The kids were in the kitchen, My wife was getting them ready. I took my boots off on the porch, My uniform came off there too. I carried it to the laundry room, Put it in the wash alone. The washer started turning Before I joined them down the hall. [Final Verse – Sparse acoustic guitar, low sustained fiddle, almost no banjo. Intimate, weary male vocal. No musical lift. Let the last two lines settle naturally.] My wife had breakfast on the table, The kids were getting dressed. One asked me how my night had gone As I sat down with the rest. I told them 'bout the baby, How his daddy held his hand. The washer kept on turning While we made our morning plans. [Outro – Two quiet measures of acoustic guitar and a single fading fiddle note. Somber, understated, no bright resolution. No spoken words.]
