[Intro: acoustic strum, bodhran] Sunday chalk dust on the pew and the radiators tick Grandma opens up the folder with a pencil and a click [Verse 1] Black binder, taped spine, alto two in fading ink Every breath mark from a winter when the furnace made her think She wrote watch the cutoffs here in a hand that never shook And the choir learned to trust her more than they trusted the book Forty years of Easter mornings and a hundred quiet nights Rehearsing in the basement under buzzing yellow lights She never wanted solos and she never took a bow She only kept the folder and she kept the altos now [Chorus: adult group] Choir folder, choir folder, dog-eared and true Carry every little secret that the altos ever knew Choir folder, choir folder, pencil in the seam Hold the line when we get nervous and remind us of the dream Pass it down the row when the hands begin to shake Choir folder, keep us honest for the song we have to make [Verse 2] The year her glasses thickened and the notes began to blur She still mouthed every entrance like a lighthouse in the stir Pastor asked her once to rest and she laughed and shook her head Said the Lord can have my Sundays when the last amen is said Then one Lent her pencil slipped and she left it on the floor My cousin picked it up and wrote the cutoffs like before Grandma watched and nodded like a queen who found her heir And the binder felt less heavy in the young hands sitting there [Chorus: adult group] Choir folder, choir folder, dog-eared and true Carry every little secret that the altos ever knew Choir folder, choir folder, pencil in the seam Hold the line when we get nervous and remind us of the dream Pass it down the row when the hands begin to shake Choir folder, keep us honest for the song we have to make [Fiddle Break: bright, eight bars] [Bridge: half-time, voice and acoustic] She sits now in the front row with a thermos and a smile Mouths the words she wrote in margins for a long and faithful while When we miss a cutoff she just taps once on the wood And the whole loft finds the pocket like we always knew we would [Verse 3] Christmas Eve the power failed and we sang by phone light Grandma in her coat and boots still counting in the night She handed me the folder with the pencil on the clip Said your turn to keep the altos from a holy little slip [Final Chorus: adult group, child choir answers amen very low] Choir folder, choir folder, dog-eared and true Carry every little secret that the altos ever knew Choir folder, choir folder, pencil in the seam Hold the line when we get nervous and remind us of the dream Pass it down the row when the hands begin to shake Choir folder, keep us honest for the song we have to make (amen) (amen) Choir folder, keep us honest for the song we have to make [Outro: fiddle soft, bodhran fade] Sunday chalk dust on the pew and the radiators tick The folder is open, and the altos still stick
