Verse 1

Mama, you were up before the kettle knew the day
Standing at the window while the frost took the yard away
You don't ask for anything, you never have, you never will
You just set the table quiet and you let the house go still
Out past the fence the field is white and does not move
And you say that's how the morning tells the truth

Chorus

Bright field, cold morning, all of it is grace
Every year you make a Christmas out of nothing in this place
I have travelled and I've argued and I've come back through the door
Bright field, cold morning, and you love me like before

Verse 2

You kept the paper angels that we made in ninety-nine
Bent and glued and terrible and hanging on the pine
You put the radio on low and hum the parts you know
You say you never sing out loud, but Mama, yes you do
When the oven's on and everyone's asleep along the hall
I have heard you from the stairway singing softest of us all

Chorus

Bright field, cold morning, all of it is grace
Every year you make a Christmas out of nothing in this place
I have travelled and I've argued and I've come back through the door
Bright field, cold morning, and you love me like before

Bridge

There is a light in here that doesn't come from the tree
It comes off you and off the floor you swept at five
It comes off every ordinary thing you keep alive

Final Chorus

Bright field, cold morning, all of it is grace
You made a Christmas out of nothing and you never took the praise
So sit down, let me bring it, let me carry in the tray
Bright field, cold morning — Mama, happy Christmas Day

Outro

Bright field, cold morning, the kettle's coming on
Rest a minute, Mama, let me hum the rest along