The Watchman's Ember

Verse

spoken word

Elliot at the ledger, ink-stained fingers slow,
oil-cloth windows dim with ash, a brass lamp burning low.
He lays his silver watch upon the page to mark the hour,
Finch wheels the cracked window like a black feathered prowler.
Crew answers: "Hoor!" — Leader: "Ho!"
Crew: "Hoor!" — Leader: "Ho!"

Chorus

Sing, haul the chain, pull the cord, call to the sky we know,
but when the horn is silent, we haul by the watch's glow.
A coal from Finch drops bright; it dots the margin so,
Elliot folds that ember close, a tiny flame will grow.
Crew: "Ho!" — Leader: "Ho!"

Verse

Pages curl with soot like maps of the city's bones,
handwritten lists of borrowers, of lost coats and phones.
He writes by clockwork ticking, eyes on the soot-stained rim,
waiting for an airship's cough to cut the dusk gone dim.
Crew answers: "Hoor!" — Leader: "Ho!"

Chorus

Sing, haul the chain, pull the cord, call to the sky we know,
but when the horn is silent, we haul by the watch's glow.
A coal from Finch drops bright; it dots the margin so,
Elliot folds that ember close, a tiny flame will grow.
Crew: "Ho!" — Leader: "Ho!"

Bridge

whispered

No brass balloon to braid our names in steam and plume,
no foghorn cutting lanes through dust and gloom;
but a tick and silver click from the watch's rim
is a captain's voice enough to steer him in.

Chorus

Sing, haul the chain, pull the cord, call to the sky we know,
when the horn is gone and the boilers cough and slow,
hold the ember in your palm and let the small flame show —
Elliot keeps the watch, and Finch keeps the crow.
Crew: "Ho!" — Leader: "Ho!"