[Intro — low, measured] Hinge first. Post second. Then the word. [Verse 1] I dig the hole until the bar stands plumb. A crooked post makes a liar of the thumb that swore this ground would hold a true divide. I speak the divide. I make it wide enough for a wagon, tight for a thief. That is the craft. That is the belief. [Pre-chorus] Open for the good load. Shut on the rot. I hang this law whether they like it or not. [Chorus — long] I hang the gate and I name what comes through. I hang the gate and I name what comes through. Bread. Work. A friend who pays his due. A warning said early. A tool that is true. Keep out the easy poison, the grin with a hook, the deal that looks fat and guts you on the books. I cast this threshold like a loaded vow. Nothing enters here that I will not own now. Stand in the post. Settle in the pin. I put my shoulder to the wood and I win the right to decide what my hours obey. That is a man’s magic. That is the way. I call strength into the arm that swings it closed. I call clear sight into the eye that knows a good guest from a famine in a coat. I bind my house to a hard, clean throat that can say no without shaking, and yes without debt. I have not failed the future if I lock it yet. Hang it. Hang it. Set the latch. Set the grain. I cast this border. I will walk it in rain. [Verse 2] I have opened for hunger that wore my own face and learned that pity can gut a place faster than rust. So I measure the hand that knocks. If it’s honest, I let it stand in the yard and I pour the coffee black. If it slithers, it leaves by the same worn track. [Pre-chorus] Open for the good load. Shut on the rot. I hang this law whether they like it or not. [Chorus — long] I hang the gate and I name what comes through. I hang the gate and I name what comes through. Bread. Work. A friend who pays his due. A warning said early. A tool that is true. Keep out the easy poison, the grin with a hook, the deal that looks fat and guts you on the books. I cast this threshold like a loaded vow. Nothing enters here that I will not own now. Stand in the post. Settle in the pin. I put my shoulder to the wood and I win the right to decide what my hours obey. That is a man’s magic. That is the way. I call strength into the arm that swings it closed. I call clear sight into the eye that knows a good guest from a famine in a coat. I bind my house to a hard, clean throat that can say no without shaking, and yes without debt. I have not failed the future if I lock it yet. Hang it. Hang it. Set the latch. Set the grain. I cast this border. I will walk it in rain. [Bridge] A gate ain’t hatred. A gate is a spine with a hinge. Fuck the fool who calls every lock a sin. Damn the man who lets every weather in and then cusses the flood. This shit is husbandry, not a grudge: choose, then carry, then do not budge. [Verse 3] When the sun drops, I test it once more. Latch bites. Post holds. That is the score. I sleep as a man who drew a clean rim around the life he intends to keep in. Morning I open for work, and I mean the opening too. Both acts are the same machine. [Final chorus] I hang the gate and I name what comes through. I hang the gate and I name what comes through. Bread. Work. A friend who pays his due. A warning said early. A tool that is true. Keep out the easy poison, the grin with a hook, the deal that looks fat and guts you on the books. I cast this threshold like a loaded vow. Nothing enters here that I will not own now. Stand in the post. Settle in the pin. I put my shoulder to the wood and I win the right to decide what my hours obey. That is a man’s magic. That is the way. I call strength into the arm that swings it closed. I call clear sight into the eye that knows a good guest from a famine in a coat. I bind my house to a hard, clean throat that can say no without shaking, and yes without debt. I have not failed the future if I lock it yet. Hang it. Hang it. Set the latch. Set the grain. I cast this border. It held in the rain. [Outro — spoken] Good. Now go do the work the gate was built to protect.
