[Intro]
[Low piano strikes answer the three-note synthesizer motif before the full band enters in 7/8.]

[Chorus]
I am back at the terminal, back in the glare,
Same chair, same login, less of me there.
The building remembers the shape of my name,
The project still hungers, the deadline’s the same.
I am back at the terminal, locked in the light,
Clocking the morning that grew from last night.

[Verse 1]
My badge touched the reader; it answered in blue,
The gate gave a click like it always would do.
The lift climbed in silence from zero to nine,
While rain drew a fault through the glass and the sign.
My desk held the cup that I left there before,
A coffee-dark moon on the laminate floor.
The monitor woke with a colorless flame,
Then asked for the password attached to my name.

[Pre-Chorus]
The cursor kept beating, precise and alone,
A pulse made of pixels, a metronome bone.
No witness could tell what had broken inside;
The calendar opened; no system had died.

[Chorus]
I am back at the terminal, back in the glare,
Same chair, same login, less of me there.
The building remembers the shape of my name,
The project still hungers, the deadline’s the same.
I am back at the terminal, locked in the light,
Clocking the morning that grew from last night.

[Verse 2]
At nine came the meeting, at ten came the chart,
A green upward arrow through red human hearts.
They spoke about courage, alignment and pace,
While sleep left a bruise underneath every face.
The architect promised the plan had been cleared;
The product lead changed what the promise had meant.
A ticket marked finished returned to my queue,
Its title unchanged, but its purpose made new.

[Pre-Chorus]
The cursor kept beating beneath every lie,
A small cyan signal that would not say why.
I typed, “Understood,” though my hands had gone cold,
Then reopened the failure I could not unfold.

[Instrumental Break]
[Seven-string guitar and cellos develop the three-note motif in contrary motion while keyboard clicks join the percussion.]

[Bridge]
Perhaps I had never departed this room.
Perhaps every evening had folded till noon.
Perhaps every road from the last shattered frame
Led back to this terminal: badge, chair and name.
Yet somewhere beneath all the processes spun,
A thread had remained that refused to be done.

[Build-up]
One line became two.
Two errors turned four.
The board filled with colors
And covered the door.
The clock crossed eleven.
The windows turned white.
I signed into morning
And worked through the night.

[Final Chorus]
I am back at the terminal, back in the glare,
Same chair, same login—but something is there:
A pulse under silence, too faint to name,
A thread in the system still carrying pain.
I am back at the terminal, locked in the light,
Not living, not leaving—still here for the night.
The building remembers the shape of my name;
The project still hungers. I answer the same.

[Outro]
[The orchestra cuts away, leaving only the keyboard rhythm and the unresolved three-note cyan motif.]

Back at the terminal.
Back in the chair.
The cursor is waiting.
I am still there.