The room was boisterious, loud with laughter and well-spirited conversation. Handsome couples had been carefully arranged among the hand-carved mahogany tables by a distinguished-looking gentleman standing watch at the front of the room. The bar rose high on the left, with hundreds of bottles lining six different amber and cherry-hued shelves. A roaring fire crackled in the far corner and the ceiling was crowded with ornate chandeliers, each one with its own character and unique design - twisting and turning like a collection of golden antlers or the glowing roots of some ancient tree. He tried to follow, but her eyes moved to the stage. Then, the music started. ”

Just speak softly, speak your mind, take your time. The words you wait to say are always the best kind. Just let your secrets become...the windows that we look from. Dinner and a drink! We’re much more than just dinner and a drink!
We’re not made of just dinner and a drink! Though we’ll always be Golden, golden!

Oh, take us to the table, where all the dishes turn to dust and all the dancers look to us to lead the way.
Oh, you take us down the stairs, and let the chandeliers tell the story. Let the chandeliers, say it all, it all.

Just breath slowly, let the lights, take your eyes down. The stare you couldn’t catch, is never the last one. Just let your body guide you out of the step you’re used to. Dinner and a drink! We’re much more than just dinner and a drink! We’re not made of just dinner and a drink! Though we’ll always be Golden, golden!

Just come closer, and say the words you’d you say if you were saying them to him. Just come closer, and pretend the face that you see is the face that you need. Just come closer, just come closer, just come closer to me tonight.
— The Seven Years Between, Benedict Crowley