I am the archivist, the one who records history
Chronicling the past in fields of metadata
And folds of acid-free plastic, elastic fastened binders
I leave my sticky, jam covered fingerprints
Wherever I alter digital files, guess dates
Impose my own schema, create controlled vocabularies

It is not the victor who writes history
Battles are won and lost in this dark room, the past
Attacked by crumbling paper, melting microfilm reels
Ambushed by time, disinterest, and decay
If I say so, then an event never happened
For who else has the proof to refute my claim?