Work Text:
There’s a shop on a street in a city
With shelves that are stacked full of books
It is dusty and damp — none too pretty
It greets you with glowering looks
The bookshop finds clients intrusive
Repels them with locks and with smells
Its hours are very elusive
‘Tis wise to avoid A. Z. Fell’s
Don’t misunderstand the word “bookshop”
The stock there is seldom for sale
When the manager gives you a look, stop!
The customers seldom prevail
The back room is strictly off-limits
Except for… well, never you mind
The point is, that room’s no-admittance
There’s nothing there for you to find
The bookshop loves dearly its book hoard
Protects it for all the shop’s worth
A warden with no flaming sword
Just an angel’s abode here on earth
For those who seek help or safe haven
The entrance is often unbarred
But otherwise, best to stay craven
The shop is both garden and guard
Some fools dare to bribe or make threats
Or to whisper how well books can burn
Beware: those who blackmail regret
For none of them ever return
The bookshop is hardly a heaven
Some shoppers might call it a hell
The shelves are at sixes and sevens
They’re not meant to serve clientele
Yet, though the shop seems quite rebuffing
Its heart hard as mortar and brick
And though it is surely not bluffing
Don’t get the wrong end of the stick
For some say the shop can be friendly
They say there are those it adores
Some say the shop cares for a Bentley
That takes shelter close to its doors
Some say, there are two the shop favors
And treasures as much as its tomes
They say, if you’re one of those favored
The shop lets you call it a home