[Intro]

The badge is warm from the printer tray,
the coffee tastes like yesterday.
A headset waits beside my chair—
red light blinking: someone's there.

[Verse]

They showed me charts in cheerful blue,
retention rates and revenue.
They said, "You'll own the customer,"
as if the servers answered her.

No keys to deploy, no code to merge,
no power to move a feature's verge.
But every promise, late or lost,
will reach my desk and bear my cost.

[Pre-Chorus]

I own the tone, I own the room,
I do not own what ships or when.
Still every silence on the line
comes circling back to me again.

[Chorus]

Welcome to Customer Success,
where every "yes" becomes a guess.
Save the deal, absorb the blame,
learn each stakeholder's middle name.
No control, but full access—
welcome to Customer Success.

[Verse]

My manager says, "Be proactive.
Keep the relationship attractive."
Product says, "That's not in scope."
Sales says, "Give the client hope."

TitanBank calls in at ten—
three directors, one legal pen.
Their cameras on, their voices flat.
They know exactly where we're at.

[Pre-Chorus]

I straighten notes, I check the sound,
the little red light comes around.
A dozen promises fill the screen,
and none of them belong to me.

[Chorus]

Welcome to Customer Success,
where polished words conceal the mess.
Save the deal, absorb the blame,
translate fire into a name.
No control, but full address—
welcome to Customer Success.

[Instrumental Break]

[Bridge]

My notebook has a narrow spine,
open promises, line by line—
a date from Sales, a scope from June.
I underline what I can prove.

[Build-up]

The headset flashes. The meeting starts.
I cannot code it. I cannot hide.
But I can keep
the truth alive.

[Final Chorus]

Welcome to Customer Success,
no borrowed date, no false yes.
I cannot promise what teams won't name,
I will not feed a contract flame.
The red light burns above my desk—
welcome to Customer Success.

[Outro]

Nine calls tomorrow.
Three notes tonight.
The headset dims—
here the customer comes.
