She counts the bus fare, folds the crease A coin a psalm for the peace we lease God bless the small, the almost-seen The hands that hold what could’ve been God bless the cracks where the light gets thin We’re saints of the almost, the might’ve, the been He mops the floor where the boss won’t tread Swears the stain’s a map of the lives we shed God bless the small, the almost-seen The hands that hold what could’ve been God bless the cracks where the light gets thin We’re saints of the almost, the might’ve, the been The world’s built on backs that don’t bend But the spine knows truths the heart won’t mend God bless the small, the almost-seen The hands that hold what could’ve been God bless the cracks where the light gets thin We’re saints of the almost, the might’ve, the been