# Closing Time Can Wait *The Archivist — The Clockwork Cabaret* [Intro — low piano, ticking clock] I should lock up. I've been saying that for forty-three minutes. [Verse 1] The final guests have wandered home, Empty glasses, stage alone, Fidget left her hat backstage, Another night becomes a page. Lumen's glow has left the hall, Quiet settles over all, And somewhere underneath the stairs Widget's finding more repairs. I should turn the lamps down low, Check every lock and finally go, But there's one light still burning there... So I suppose I'll need this chair. [Verse 2] I've spent my life preserving things, Forgotten names and broken kings, Stories rescued from the flame, Every relic gets a date and name. A place for everything we save, A careful note beside the grave, Because everything will disappear Unless somebody keeps it here. But this place isn't from before. It's something stranger. Something more. We're making memories every night Instead of keeping ghosts in sight. I'm not accustomed to that. [Chorus] So closing time can wait awhile, Leave another light burning by the aisle, Let the old gears turn, let the last song play, Morning's still a few good hours away. There's another page, Another chair, Another reason I'm still there. Call it work. That's easier anyway. Closing time can wait. [Verse 3] She says the western relay sticks, Then spends three hours on things she's fixed, Finds a faulty hinge beside my chair, A nonexistent draft somewhere. I notice. Of course I notice. Observation is my trade. Four times she checks the same machine, Pretending not to know I've seen. So I reorganize my notes, Find another quote I haven't wrote. She invents repairs. I invent work. Neither one of us leaves. It seems an efficient arrangement. [Chorus] So closing time can wait awhile, Leave another light burning by the aisle, Let her turn the gears, I'll mind the night, There's no particular need to kill the light. There's another page, Another chair, Another reason I'm still there. Call it work. We're both quite good at that game. Closing time can wait. [Bridge — soft piano] I've archived wars. Catalogued monsters. Held the remains of things someone once thought would last forever. You learn not to become attached. Then a dead room wakes with laughter. An old piano plays again. Silver light dances across the floor. And a woman with a toolbox sits beside me pretending a perfectly good chair is broken. I know the chair is fine. I think she knows I know. And still... I hold the light. Perhaps preservation isn't only keeping what was. Perhaps sometimes it's protecting what is beginning. [Verse 4] So I make coffee after two, One for myself— And somehow two. I leave the books beside her place, Pretend I don't notice when she stays. There are things I've learned to name: Every artifact, every flame, Every creature, every door, Every mystery beneath this floor. But some things suffer when defined. Some stories need a little time. So this one stays without a name. For now. [Final Chorus] Let closing time wait one more song, We've spent enough years learning what goes wrong. Let the chandeliers burn warm and bright, Some things are worth keeping alive tonight. Let the old gears turn, Let the whole room glow, Let tomorrow wait outside below. And if she finds one more repair, I'll make the coffee. I'll be there. No need for names, No grand display, Some stories shouldn't be rushed onto the page. For once I'll let tomorrow come its own way. Closing time can wait. [Outro — piano, ticking clock] Everything is working. Every relay. Every lamp. Every stubborn little gear. There is absolutely no reason to remain here. [pause] I'll check the locks again. Perhaps make another pot. And leave the stage light on. Just in case. After all... Something might need fixing. [clock chimes] Seven-thirty tomorrow. I should be here by seven.
