Little Miss Brought-Dishware-Back-To-The-Bar

Lyrics

Hello, you.
Just the last of the foam left.
Nine forty-seven on the clock above the bar.
Time to go.
But not to leave you here.

The table is a map of sticky rings.
A graveyard of conversations.
Your brothers and sisters, they're staying put.
Waiting for a hand that isn't mine.
The waiter, his name is Ben, I think.
He's got that look.
The one that says the night is long.
And his tray is already heavy.

So I'll take you for a little walk.
Just a few steps back to the start.
A soft clink on the worn-down wood of the rail.
And the little plate, with the bones of the appetizer,
a soft thud on its neighbor.
Nobody saw. Nobody needs to see.
Just closing a small circle.

I see the path he has to walk.
A maze of chairs and outstretched legs.
Each glass adds a pound and a half, they say.
Each trip is a balance.
My ten feet of walking
saves him maybe one.
It's not a grand gesture.
It's just... quieter this way.

So I took you for that little walk.
Just a few steps back to where you started.
Your soft clink on the worn-down wood of the rail.
And the little plate, stacked neat and tidy,
a soft thud on its neighbor.
Nobody saw. Nobody needs to see.
Just closing a small circle.

There's no sign on the wall.
No rule in a book.
Just the unspoken contract of a room full of strangers.
We make a small mess.
We can make it a small bit cleaner.
A quarter-second easier for the next person.
That's all. That's the whole thing.

Alright, you're home.
With the others, waiting for the wash.
The door swings shut behind me.
The sound of the pub fades.
The night air is cool.
The circle is closed.