[Intro][The singer taps the bar twice. Dry Wurlitzer chords answer a clean guitar; glasses knock behind the crowd.]

[Spoken Word: Lead Vocal]

This one is for the man behind the camera.

[Verse 1]

Moe came in early in eighty-eight,
A second-hand camera, always staying late.
He learned each cable and each local name,
Who wanted a lager, who feared the stage.
His flash caught nerves the spotlights missed,
Young faces floating in contact-sheet mist.

[Pre-Chorus]

No velvet rope, no backstage line,
Just four-by-six prints drying over time.
Before the big posters and interview lights,
The flash caught their nerves on their smallest nights.

[Chorus]

Moe keeps the pictures where the bottles shine,
Every broke young band in a crooked line.
Faces grow famous, but the frames stay small;
Moe keeps the pictures and remembers them all.
Thumbprints, bent corners, names beside dates:
Proof every headline once unloaded crates.

[Verse 2]

One singer hangs ten feet high across town;
Here she asked if anybody would come down.
A guitarist grins with one missing shoe,
Now his stadium roof is visible from the loo.
One face disappeared with no record or fame;
Moe recalls the weather, the set and the name.

[Pre-Chorus]

No auction stamp, no gold around the frame,
Just dust on the glass and blue tack by each name.
Before the tour buses and dressing-room lights,
The flash caught their nerves on their smallest nights.

[Chorus]

Moe keeps the pictures where the bottles shine,
Every broke young band in a crooked line.
Faces grow famous, but the frames stay small;
Moe keeps the pictures and remembers them all.
Thumbprints, bent corners, names beside dates:
Proof every headline once unloaded crates.

[Instrumental Break][Wurlitzer and lead guitar trade the three-note motif while the bass walks beneath them.]

[Verse 3]

Tonight he moves slowly from table to wall,
Taking down nothing, just touching it all.
The lease calls them fixtures included in sale;
Moe lifts the negatives, box after box.
He raises the camera and points it our way,
Dust on the lens from a thousand load-ins.

[Bridge]

"A famous face is only a face
Till someone gives it an ordinary place.
A stage low enough for a hand to reach."
Then the shutter snaps: "Stop posing. Play."

[Final Chorus]

Moe keeps the pictures where the bottles shine,
Every lost young band in a crooked line.
Some became famous; some simply went home;
No one in those frames had to make it alone.
One flash catches us under worn-out red;
Moe writes tonight's date before the print has set.

[Outro][The Wurlitzer repeats the motif alone. Mo's camera shutter clicks once.]

[Lead Vocal]

Keep that one, Moe.