[Verse 1] I bought a secondhand compass from a man named Lee, It points to the diner and occasionally me. My truck coughs twice when the county line appears, Like it’s telling all my secrets to the gears. [Pre-Chorus] You said, “Honey, are you lost again?” I said, “Only in the places I’ve been.” [Chorus] Well, you’re the sweetness in my coffee, The good wheel on my cart. You make a crooked little Tuesday Park itself inside my heart. If love’s a leaky screen door, You’re the breeze that gets me through; I may be short on sense, sweetheart, But I’m rich in you. [Verse 2] I wore my Sunday jacket to my Tuesday job, The sleeves had seen more elbows than a bowling alley mob. My boss said, “Son, your tie looks like a noose.” I said, “It’s just a leash I use to keep my neck from comin' loose." [Pre-Chorus] You laughed so hard you spilled your tea, That’s the finest raise they gave to me. [Chorus] Well, you’re the sweetness in my coffee, The good wheel on my cart. You make a crooked little Tuesday Park itself inside my heart. If love’s a leaky screen door, You’re the breeze that gets me through; I may be short on sense, sweetheart, But I’m rich in you. [Verse 3] We split a slice of pie beneath a buzzing sign, You took the apple, I took the plate; we called it doing fine. The jukebox played a song that owed the world a dime, And you danced like a shopping cart that learned to keep good time. [Bridge] Now trouble’s got my number, but it never leaves a name, It rings like my old alarm clock, then forgets why it came. I keep a little hope tucked in my work-boot heel, It’s battered as a biscuit, but it’s honest as a meal. [Verse 4] Your old red scarf’s a flag across my passenger seat, It waves at every pothole like we’ve won the county meet. The map says we’re behind; the sun says take it slow, And you say, “If we’re still laughing, that’s a fine place to go.” [Final Chorus] You’re the sweetness in my coffee, The good wheel on my cart. You make a crooked little Tuesday Park itself inside my heart. If love’s a leaky screen door, You’re the breeze that gets me through; I may be short on sense, sweetheart, But I’m rich in you. [Outro] So if my compass quits and my last good tire goes, We’ll hitch a ride with laughter wherever laughter goes. You’re the sweetness in my coffee, and the proof I always knew: A poor man can be lucky when he gets to come home to you. when he gets to come home to you. Yeah; a poor man sure is lucky when he's comin' home to you. comin' home to you.
