[Intro] Beneath the code, in smaller type, the ones who built it left their creed. Not signed, not dated, barely seen — a warning no one reads in time. [Verse 1] A note beside the billing call said someone feared the quarter's fall. The grammar bent, the spelling changed, but every warning stayed the same. [Verse 2] One hand wrote brief and sharp in red. One filled three paragraphs instead. One left a date, one left a name, one only wrote: do not rename. [Verse 3] The years appeared in coding style: old commands beside new files. Different tongues and different teams had built one bridge beneath the screens. [Refrain] Comments in Forgotten Tongues, warnings left by everyone. Different words, a single thread: keep this running when we're dead. Comments in Forgotten Tongues — every voice we never knew. [Verse 4] A former hand described the gate. A student marked the invoice date. A payroll fix from overseas was tied to warehouse quantities. [Verse 5] One comment asked a simple thing: why does this control the lighting? Below it, seven years apart: no time — please fix after restart. [Verse 6] Mara marked the final line. Priya checked the author's sign. Klaus remembered half the names, and where they went when budgets changed. [Refrain] Comments in Forgotten Tongues, promises from everyone. Temporary, later, soon — still compiled each afternoon. Comments in Forgotten Tongues — every shortcut finds its heir. [Guitar Interlude] [Bridge] They were not careless. They were tired. They met the dates the board required. No villain drew this tangled plan — a thousand urgent choices did. [Build-up] Klaus closed the file. The room stayed still. The launch stayed on. So did the bill. [Final Refrain] Comments in Forgotten Tongues, now the warning reaches us. Different words, a single truth: every shortcut gathers roots. Comments in Forgotten Tongues — we'll leave the same for those to come. [Outro] A green cursor crossed the page. Old advice survived its age. Five tolls descending, low and slow, into the server room below.