[Intro] [Fingerpicked guitar and bowed bass leave a full beat of silence between phrases.] [Verse 1] I am the spear beside the printer, Cold through summer, dull through winter. Once I flew where banners tore. Now I guard the stationery drawer. My point reflects the warning light. Paper jams disturb the night. No king has touched my ashwood grain. A cleaner moves me back again. [Verse 2] I tell the spear, “You still stand true.” It answers, “Do the same thing too.” I say, “The age of kings is through.” It says, “Then why bow when they ask you to?” My narrow tie cuts at my skin. The printer pulls another page within. A picture of the quarterly plan Slides warm and useless to my hand. [Chorus] The spear beside the printer Remembers every hand. It knew the weight of kingdoms; Now it holds the paper jam. The spear beside the printer Still knows where I should stand. [Verse 3] I traded comfort for a sight That showed me consequence and right. I hung for knowledge, cut and cold. No pension plan, no stock, no gold. Yet here I price a warning down To fit a client’s budget round. My wisdom enters slide by slide. My name sits small on the lower-right side. [Instrumental Break] [Bowed bass sustains the three-note motif while acoustic guitar answers in descending thirds.] [Bridge] The spear says, “Purpose is not rank. A weapon knows the arm it thanks. You need not throw me through a wall To stand upright before them all. But wood left leaning learns to bend, And every borrowed role must end.” [Chorus] The spear beside the printer Remembers every hand. It knew the weight of kingdoms; Now it holds the paper jam. The spear beside the printer Still knows where I should stand. [Final Chorus] The spear beside the printer Is not a relic, not a brand. It bears the grain of Yggdrasil No office ever understood. The spear beside the printer Waits quietly for my hand. [Outro] The warning light turns amber, then white. I lift the spear and feel its weight. For one brief breath, the room grows still. Then paper feeds. The printer waits.