The Last Dance in the Stacks

Verse

The lamp flame wavers on the card-catalog drawer,
she's got an ink-smudge cheek from the census of '44.
I read the final diary by the glow of that one wick,
July the 15th, page 112, the words are getting thick.

Chorus

We never learned to dance, but the reading room is clear,
the shelves are full of silence and the last year's atmosphere.
She places the last page on the sill where glass once sat,
and I reach across the table — that's where we're at.

Verse

She hums a tune from a station gone to snow,
the mask muffles every note I'll ever know.
The diary runs dry, the ink is flat,
I never learned the fox-trot, she never learned to chat.

Chorus

We never learned to dance, but the reading room is clear,
the shelves are full of silence and the last year's atmosphere.
She places the last page on the sill where glass once sat,
and I reach across the table — that's where we're at.

Bridge

spoken word

She says, "This was the last page."
I say, "Then we start again from memory."

softly

She laughs, a little cough, the lamp burns low,
I push back my chair, she lets the mask drop slow.

Chorus

We never learned to dance, but the reading room is clear,
the shelves are full of silence and the last year's atmosphere.
She places the last page on the sill where glass once sat,
and I reach across the table — that's where we're at.