[Intro]
[Staccato violas count five uneven beats while the pipe organ answers with three hard chords.]

[Verse 1]
The source came through the service stair,
Rain in her coat, bleach in her hair.
She placed a folder on the steel,
Said, “Check the dates and trace the deal.”
Contracts stamped in midnight blue,
Names the evening audience knew.
One marked favor, one marked threat,
One marked debt not settled yet.

[Pre-Chorus]
The control room called my private line:
“Lose the file and you’ll be fine.”
The red lamp warmed above the booth—
A polished eye above black truth.

[Chorus]
Red light, black truth, burning over the booth,
They paint every lie with the lacquer of proof.
Red light, black truth, I can taste the wire,
One honest sentence and the board smells fire.
Let the lens move in, let the lawyers accuse—
I will not make black what the red light proves.

[Verse 2]
My producer met me by the wall,
Where muted screens repeat us all.
She said, “I know the figures fit,
But ownership will bury it.
Trump will call the network fraud,
The board will kneel and then applaud.
A lawsuit need not win the fight;
It only has to drain the light.”

[Pre-Chorus]
I heard the floor director say,
“Thirty seconds—clear the way.”
I hid the folder by my side,
Where frightened hands had never pried.

[Chorus]
Red light, black truth, burning over the booth,
They paint every lie with the lacquer of proof.
Red light, black truth, I can taste the wire,
One honest sentence and the board smells fire.
Let the lens move in, let the lawyers accuse—
I will not make black what the red light proves.

[Break]
[The rhythm section stops after every fifth beat as the baritone and mezzo-soprano trade short phrases.]

[Baritone: Jonah]
Do not name the name.

[Mezzo-soprano: Mara]
Then why was it signed?

[Baritone: Jonah]
Do not call it shame.

[Mezzo-soprano: Mara]
Then what do we call the blind?

[Duet]
Do not make this war.
The war crossed our door.

[Solo]
[A dissonant viola solo circles the ON AIR motif while muted guitar harmonics imitate warning tones.]

[Bridge]
The light is not a judge or god,
Just current through a copper rod.
Yet every face beneath its red
Repeats the lines the owners fed.
I touched the glass and felt it warm—
A little sun before the storm.

[Final Chorus]
Red light, black truth, burn over the booth,
Strip every lie of its borrowed proof.
Red light, black truth, carry heat through the wire,
One printed name can outlive a fire.

[Outro]
I copied every page at two,
Left one with someone brave and new.
The red light died; the room turned blue.
The black truth waited to come through.
