Track Insight / Lyrics
The chairs are upside down.
The bottles sleep in rows.
The jukebox holds its breath.
One light still knows the door.
The botanist walks in slow.
His pockets hold the soil.
He studies every fern And every spill.
He knows the moonlit soil.
A locust by the wall
Has tangled through the chair.
He names it in the dark,
Names it there.
A patient winter prayer.
The last regular remains.
The last regular remains.
He orders one more round
As midnight fills the veins.
The last regular remains.
The bartender wipes the glass.
The snow forgets the sill.
The botanist hears roots Below the sill.
A quiet, living will.
The clock begins to shake.
The street forgets its name.
He lifts his empty glass
And feeds the flame.
No flower fears the change.
The sign says closing soon.
The chairs are losing shape.
He traces moss on bark, A softer escape.
The night begins to break.
The door swings wide, then shuts.
The room forgets its art.
He carries one small dream
Back to his heart.
And plants it in the dark.
The last regular remains.
The last regular remains.
He orders one more round
As midnight fills the veins.
The last regular remains.
The last regular remains.
The last regular remains.
He gathers up the silence,
Breaks the chains.
The last regular remains.
The streetlights blink like seeds.
The empty doorway glows.
One green thing keeps growing
Where the darkness goes.
