1921 — THE LAST NIGHT OF ELLIOT SPENCER

[Intro — fragile piano; intimate, exhausted female contralto] Let there be something left in me That knows when it is touched. [Verse 1 — restrained female lead; piano, low cello] The shutters move. The lamp burns low. My tunic hangs across a chair. I set my watch beside the glass And try to leave the captain there. The brass is warm beneath my thumb; Its pattern occupies my mind. If something waits beyond this room, Perhaps it knows what I can’t find. [Pre-Chorus — methodical metallic clicks; strings tightening] One piece yields. Another turns. The little golden faces part. A bell begins beyond the wall— Then answers underneath my heart. [Chorus — wounded female belt; slow doom guitars enter] I asked the dark to make me feel— It made a church of me. Now every breath becomes a bell, And every nerve a key. There must be something left inside That still belongs to me. I asked the dark to make me feel— It made a church of me. [Verse 2 — female voice becoming steadier; piano melody transfers to low organ] A measured line across my brow. Another laid across the first. The shadows move with patient hands. They never hurry through my hurt. Each silver point becomes a marker Above a memory laid to rest. The names I carried lose their faces. A colder voice fills up my chest. [Chorus — exactly the same melody; less fear, unsettling clarity] I asked the dark to make me feel— It made a church of me. Now every breath becomes a bell, And every nerve a key. The voice that cried for mercy here Is growing strange to me. I asked the dark to make me feel— It made a church of me. [Bridge — one last return to fragile piano; exposed human voice] My mother called me Elliot. I used to turn my head. I see her standing in the doorway— I cannot hear what she has said. [Transformation — four measured metallic strikes; piano stops, monumental organ takes its melody] [Final Verse — the Hell Priest; low female contralto, composed and precise] You tremble first. Then find your voice. Then ask how long the feeling stays. I hear the question change its meaning As seconds open into days. The body has its own devotions. The mind takes longer to agree. Be still. Attend to each sensation. There is no need to look at me. [Final Chorus — same melody; calm lead against crushing guitars and immense female choir] I asked the dark to make me feel— It made a church of me. Now every cry becomes a hymn, And every wound a key. You need no words to worship here. Your suffering speaks to me. I asked the dark to make me feel— It made a church of me. [Final Refrain — female choir; solemn, perfectly measured] It made a church of me. It made a church of me. [Outro — organ falls away; close, courteous female voice] I can hear you perfectly. You needn’t stop. [One metallic strike. Silence.]