[Intro]
[One slide click triggers guitar, bass and drums; the projector fan rises into the first riff.]

Slide one: Welcome.
Slide two: Scope.
Slide three: A polished
And reasonable hope.

[Verse 1]
The board takes its places with tablets and tea.
The CEO nods at Valhalla 3B.
I open with purpose, assumptions and frame.
No thunder, no wolves, no unlicensed flame.
Then Hugin advances from seven to eight.
The screen skips to ninety-nine: TERMINAL STATE.
The serpent appears where the logo should lock.
Welcome to PowerPoint Ragnarok.

[Pre-Chorus]
The projector refuses to follow command.
A rune fills the wall like a wound in the land.
The partner keeps clicking, then stares at the clock.
Click, click—PowerPoint Ragnarok.

[Chorus]
PowerPoint Ragnarok,
Every bullet point unlocks.
Every graph becomes a gate,
Every deadline meets its date.
PowerPoint Ragnarok—
Click by click, the building rocks.

[Verse 2]
The printer ejects every hidden red name.
The sprinklers awaken without finding flame.
The coffee machine gives a long final tone.
The lift announces, “No service. Unknown.”
A cabinet opens; the contracts pour out.
Finance begins calculating the route.
The CEO asks who authorized shock.
Munin says, “PowerPoint Ragnarok.”

[Pre-Chorus]
The lights divide into darkness and white.
The quarterly forecast consumes its own slide.
The board wants a break, but the doors will not lock.
Click, click—PowerPoint Ragnarok.

[Chorus]
PowerPoint Ragnarok,
Every bullet point unlocks.
Every graph becomes a gate,
Every deadline meets its date.
PowerPoint Ragnarok—
Click by click, the building rocks.

[Instrumental Break]
[Metal cabinets and acoustic drums trade a five-beat pattern while guitar turns the slide-click rhythm into a descending riff.]

[Bridge]
The CEO stands and commands us to stop.
“The narrative fails when the visuals drop.”
I point to the names pouring warm from the tray:
“The narrative failed when you priced them away.”
No giant enters. No fire descends.
Just truth without formatting, margins or trends.

[Break]
No logo.
No footer.
No approved line.
Only the names
And the cost of the time.

[Build-up]
The projector returns with a blistering white.
One rune remains in the center of sight.
It means not destruction, but consequence due.
The board asks for options. I give them the truth.

[Final Chorus]
PowerPoint Ragnarok,
Every polished sentence stops.
Every graph reveals its weight,
Every deadline finds its date.
PowerPoint Ragnarok—
No template holds what numbers cost.

[Outro]
The screen turns black.
The room turns still.
Someone asks, “Who owns next steps?”
No one will.