The Last Call (A Toast to Chaos)

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight, we're going to sing a few songs. Songs about love. Songs about loss. Songs about the things we do when the voices get too loud and the only answer is the axe."

"This first one's for the voices. They've been with me a long time. They sing along. They always sing along."

"A toast. To chaos. To the beautiful mess. To the thing that keeps us coming back to the stage, night after night, even when the audience is dead."

"Ladies and gentlemen. The last call. Let's begin."

The lights are low. The room is red.

The voices whisper in my head.

They say "sing, Sammy. Sing the song.

The one about the things we did wrong."

But nothing's wrong. Nothing's bad.

The only thing I ever had

Was the axe. The blade. The beautiful swing.

The moment the voices taught me to sing.

So raise your glass. Raise it high.

The ones who left. The ones who died.

They're still here. Can't you see?

They're the audience. They're the melody.

This is the last call. This is the night.

The voices are singing. The voices are right.

One more toast. One more chance.

One more dance with the blade in my hands.

This is the last call. The lounge is closed.

The bodies are stacked. The blood is disposed.

But the music keeps playing. The music won't stop.

The voices keep singing. The voices are the top.

I had a love once. She had a face.

I kept it. In a very special place.

She sings with me now. She knows the words.

She's the sweetest voice among the herd.

The herd of voices. The choir of the dead.

The ones who listened to the things I said.

I said "sing. Sing for me.

Sing the song of the things that can't be."

And they sang. They always sing.

The voices are the only thing

That stayed. That never walked away.

That never asked me to put down the blade.

"You ever have a friend who never left? Who stayed through the worst of it? That's the voices. That's the choir. That's the thing that makes the lounge a home."

"They're singing now. Can you hear them? The song about the axe. The song about the blood. The song about the beautiful, beautiful mess."

So here's to the voices. Here's to the night.

Here's to the thing that made me right.

Here's to the axe. Here's to the blade.

Here's to the promise that the voices made.

"Sing, Sammy. Sing till you drop.

Sing till the music finally stops.

Sing till the bodies rise from the floor.

Sing till the audience begs for more."

And I will. I always do.

The voices are the only thing that's true.

The lounge is open. The lounge is home.

The voices are the only thing I've ever known.

This is the last call. This is the end.

The voices are singing. The voices are my friends.

One more toast. One more cry.

One more chance to make them die.

This is the last call. The lounge is mine.

The voices are singing. The voices are divine.

The lights go out. The music fades.

The voices are the only thing that stays.