1. Everything Here Is the Last

# **Everything Here Is the Last** *Widget — The Midnight Conservatory* [Intro — harpsichord, ticking, footsteps] Couldn't sleep. Went for a walk. Found another door. Of course I did. [Verse 1] Iron vines around the frame, Latin letters, cheerful name, "Conservatory of the Lost"— Well. That's not ominous at all. Little lock beside the door, Hasn't worked since who-knows-when, Twenty minutes, little twist— Click. There we go again. Cold air creeping down the hall, Moonlight where there's none at all, Glass above me, silver-black, And suddenly there's no going back. [Pre-Chorus] One little flower, One little tree, One little plaque staring back at me— Extinct. Oh. Next one? Extinct. ...Right. [Chorus] Everything here is the last of its kind, Every little leaf that the world left behind, Keep the gears turning, keep the temperature right, Keep a tiny piece of yesterday alive tonight. Round go the valves, Tick goes the clock, Don't think too hard, just check every lock! Beautiful, impossible, Quiet and vast— Everything here Is the last. [Verse 2] Here's a fern from somewhere warm, Here's a vine that hates a storm, Here's a flower glowing blue From a world I've never been to. Here's a tree that dreams in frost, Here's another name crossed off, Every pathway seems to say: Too late. Too late. Too late. No. Not yet. Because beneath each garden bed Something ancient isn't dead: Crystal tubes and brass machines Keeping life inside the seams. I know machines. That's better. [Chorus] Everything here is the last of its kind, Every little miracle somebody left behind, Keep the gears turning, keep the pressure just right, Keep a tiny piece of yesterday alive tonight. Round go the valves, Tick goes the clock, Ignore the existential dread and check the lock! Beautiful, impossible, Quiet and vast— Everything here Is the last. [Break — organ and pizzicato strings] Temperature: drifting. Pressure: low. Stasis field... Oh, that's not good. Okay. So much for my evening stroll. [Verse 3] There's a great white tree beneath the moon, Silver leaves in a silent room, One brass plaque beneath its crown, And suddenly I can't look down. No name. No home. No others remain. Just one line scratched beneath its name: "It does not know it is the last." ... That's cruel. Who wrote that? [Bridge — softer, eerie waltz] I fix things. Broken gears, Fractured wires, Burned-out lights. You show me what's wrong, I make it right. But how do you fix "There are no more"? How do you mend What vanished before? Maybe you don't. Maybe sometimes there isn't a repair. Maybe all you can do is be there. Keep the room warm. Keep the lamps bright. Keep something breathing one more night. [beat begins returning] ... I can do that. [Final Chorus] Everything here may be the last of its kind, But nothing is disappearing on my watch tonight! Turn every valve! Get the pressure just right! Wake every ancient little engine back to life! Round go the gears! Tick goes the clock! I've got several thousand systems left to unlock! Beautiful, impossible, Haunting and vast— If everything here Is the last— Then somebody better make sure The last can last! [Instrumental — gothic swing erupts] [Outro] Pump one: stable. Field two: holding. Temperature... Acceptable. Okay. Next section. [footsteps] Oh. There's an entire second floor. ... Of course there is. [organ sting] I really should tell someone where I am. [pause] After this valve. [click]