Final Call

(hummmm) Late hour, low light.

A gold rim glass,

a steady hand,

The room breathes slow across the band,

Your eyes stay calm,

but something moves,

In half-lit corners, in borrowed grooves,

I taste the night in every chord,

And hold my smile a little too long.

If I lean in,

will you turn away?

Or let the quiet

have its say?

The air turns sweet,

then sharp, then still,

Like luck that bends against your will.

Stay with me till the last slow tune,

Hold that look

like a cut of moon,

We don’t have to name what we found,

Just let it hang in the velvet sound,

Stay with me, let the clock lose time,

One more turn of that minor line.

The bartender polishes slow and neat,

A soft confession in four-four feet,

Your laughter falls, then fades to warm,

A matchhead glow without a storm,

I hear the brass say what I can’t,

A tender dare I never planned.

Don’t make it easy,

don’t make it clean,

Leave a small ache in the in-between,

If this is all we get tonight,

Let it be true in the low gold light.

Stay with me till the last slow

tune, Hold that look like a cut of moon,

We don’t have to name what we found,

Just

let it hang in

the velvet sound, Stay with me,

let the clock lose

time, One more turn of that minor line. (ooh)

Let it linger, (hummmm) Till the room goes still.