Antiquaire

Lyrics

[Intro]
(a gramophone crackle — a record placed on a turntable)
(harpsichord and strings enter together, unhurried, a shop being opened)

[Verse 1]
The antiquaire on Rue du Bac has hands
That smell like the opinion of a locked drawer
He appraises things
Not by what they cost
But by what they survived

He held a pocket watch against his ear
And said: this one remembers 1943
The ticking has a slight catch on the third beat
Like someone who hesitates
Before agreeing
To something
They know will change everything

And I thought —
That's what the sleeping mind does
It holds every memory against its ear
And listens
For the catch
And the ones with a catch
Get the cabinet
And the ones without
Get the table outside
Marked: free

[Chorus]
(building — strings, harpsichord, the waltz gentle)
Antiquaire, antiquaire
The sleeping appraiser of the day
Antiquaire, antiquaire
He picks through what the waking left behind
And keeps the ones that tremble
When he holds them to the light
And the tremble
Is how he knows
The memory is load-bearing
And the load
Is you

[Verse 2]
(just voice and gramophone warmth, intimate)
He showed me a compass
Whose north was seven degrees off
And he said: this is more valuable
Because the error tells a story
A compass that points true
Has nothing to say
A compass that points almost-true
Has been somewhere
And the somewhere
Bent the needle
And the bending
Is the biography

And every night
The sleeping mind
Runs its hands
Over the bent compasses
Of the day
And keeps the ones
Whose error
Tells the richest story
And files them
In a cabinet
That smells like the feeling
Of being appraised
By someone
Who has handled
A hundred thousand Tuesdays
And still thinks yours
Is worth the shelf

[Bridge]
(strings only, the appraisal becoming tender)
He closes the shop at six
And turns the sign
And the sign says: fermé
And the fermé
Is what sleep says
To the waking world
Every night
When the appraiser
Goes to work
In the back room
Where the light
Is specific
And the shelves
Are deep
And the keeping
Is an act of love
Disguised as curation

[Outro]
(gramophone crackle returns, the shop closing)
Antiquaire
(softly)
The pocket watch
The bent compass
The catch on the third beat
(the gramophone needle lifts — the appraisal complete, the shop dark, the sleeping begins)