The Old Suit

His words don’t come easy, they’re real hard to find

His clothes they are tethered, his smile it is kind

His hands they are callused and wrinkled from age

His brow is sun weathered but he never complains

He’s as gentle as a new born asleep in the night

If he thinks he’s threatened, prepare for a fight

When Sunday comes round, the old suit he adorns

The same worn out suit from decades before

His family they sit at the table and pray

They give thanks for the food they are eating today

Tomorrow he’ll leave for another day’s wages

And repeat the same thing he’s been doing for ages

His life like it’s scripted from out of a book

He goes with a smile and no second look

But this day he’s late, then comes the phone

Momma is crying he’s not coming home

I remember so well the day he went away

I still have that suit and I wear it Sunday

The funny thing is that I have to say

That tethered old suit starting looking brand new that day