[Intro, quiet room tone, early dusk at the window, unhurried] it was barely five when I reached for the light and the window had already gone blue [Verse 1, close and conversational, noticing rather than explaining] a month ago this hour was still afternoon I would have stayed outside without a thought now the street lamps come on while I am cooking and the kettle is louder than the day I did not see it happen no one tells you the evenings are moving they come in a minute earlier at a time like someone stepping quietly into a room [Verse 2, same restraint, the early dark turning into shelter] I used to count it as something taken an hour I was owed and did not get but the lamp makes a smaller world tonight and I find I fit in it the curtains closed before the soup was ready the floor still holding a little of the sun there is more evening now than there was and nobody needs me to fill it [Bridge, instruments thin out, muted flugelhorn and room tone only, one held breath] the light did not leave me it went somewhere it is needed and something else arrived in its place slow and close and early [Chorus, warm and wide, opening gently, never lifting into volume] so let the dark come in at five let it sit down at the table I have the lamp and the long evening and that is a kind of light too [Outro, gentle resolution, the lamp steady, full stop ending] tomorrow it will come a little sooner and I will reach for the switch again not to push the night away just to say I see you
