[Intro]
[Picked bass counts an uneven seven-beat pattern beneath dry guitar harmonics.]

Row one, revenue. Row two, regret.
Row three contains what they want to forget.

[Verse 1]
I open the workbook named FINAL-FINAL-TWO,
Its author is “Admin,” its logic untrue.
The forecast climbs neatly from quarter to quarter,
While names disappear at the edge of the border.
A formula smiles where a warning should stand.
A circular reference keeps blood off the hand.
I scroll past the columns they colored in blue,
And find seventeen people reduced to a two.

[Pre-Chorus]
They say, “Trust the model, the model is sound.”
But ravens hear footsteps beneath the ground.
They say, “Keep your focus, deliver the line.”
I sharpen one question and hide it in nine.

[Chorus]
One eye on the spreadsheet, one eye on the end,
One cell says target, one rune says pretend.
One eye on the spreadsheet, watching numbers bend,
A loss becomes “leverage,” a foe becomes “friend.”
I traded an eye so the truth could be read.
Now truth wears a formula, bordered in red.

[Verse 2]
The partner leans over and points with his pen:
“Could churn be described as retention by ten?”
I answer, “A corpse does not count as retained.”
He laughs like a man who believes I was trained.
Hugin finds invoices billed to the air.
Munin finds severance hidden in “care.”
I lock every rune in a cell out of sight,
Then set conditional formatting to white.

[Pre-Chorus]
They say, “Make it simple; complexity fails.”
But simple is useful when covering trails.
They say, “Give us confidence, steady and fine.”
I leave them a warning in column divine.

[Chorus]
One eye on the spreadsheet, one eye on the end,
One cell says target, one rune says pretend.
One eye on the spreadsheet, watching numbers bend,
A loss becomes “leverage,” a foe becomes “friend.”
I traded an eye so the truth could be read.
Now truth wears a formula, bordered in red.

[Instrumental Break]
[Bass repeats the seven-beat cell pattern while muted guitar traces the hidden rune sequence.]

[Bridge]
Mimir spoke slowly from water and stone.
No password, no dashboard, no company phone.
He asked for an eye, and the price had a name.
These people ask everything, then call it a game.
Still, I will work where their weak figures meet.
I will plant honest numbers beneath every sheet.

[Break]
Seven beats counting.
Seven cells wide.
One for the forecast.
Six for the lie.

[Final Chorus]
One eye on the spreadsheet, one eye on the end,
One hand on the figures they force me to bend.
I traded an eye so the truth could be read.
I will not let truth become overhead.
One eye on the spreadsheet, bordered in red.

[Outro]
Save changes? Yes.
Trust changes? No.
The cursor keeps blinking.
I already know.