[Verse 1] You taped a handbill to the loading bay, Said, “Wear black shoes, but don’t wear black tie.” The forklift slept beneath a strand of bulbs, While somebody tested a trumpet nearby. Mara brought a cooler full of pickles, Jon brought a speaker held together with tape, The night guard checked his watch, then checked the room, And grinned like he had already escaped. [Chorus] Meet me where the pallets make a ballroom, Where the ceiling drips and the old fans spin, We’ll toast the dust, tiptoe past the office, And let the trouble politely in. Meet me where the pipes keep bad time, Where the bassline rattles every tin, No velvet rope, no guest list drama— Just a warehouse and a room to get in. [Verse 2] A dancer in a silver raincoat Moved like a question nobody could solve, Two poets argued over one extension cord, And lost the argument when the lights went off. The DJ wore gloves for no good reason, The bass wore boots and kicked the door, A forklift beeped from somewhere distant, Like it wanted one encore. [Chorus] Meet me where the pallets make a ballroom, Where the ceiling drips and the old fans spin, We’ll toast the dust, tiptoe past the office, And let the trouble politely in. Meet me where the pipes keep bad time, Where the bassline rattles every tin, No velvet rope, no guest list drama— Just a warehouse and a room to get in. [Bridge] At half past two, the moon found a skylight, A mop bucket shone like a crown, Mara yelled, “The sprinklers are listening!” Then everybody ducked down. [Instrumental] [Final Chorus] Meet me where the pallets make a ballroom, Where the ceiling drips and the old fans spin, We’ll leave with glitter on our jackets, And somebody else’s wrench in the bin. Meet me where the pipes keep bad time, Where the dawn peeks through the rafters, No velvet rope, no guest list drama— Just a warehouse full of crooked laughter. [Outro] Lock the side door, kill the sign, Hide the trumpet in the old design, If they ask who started all this din: Tell them the warehouse let us in.


