[Intro]
[Prepared piano counts five dry notes while the drums enter one limb at a time.]

[Verse 1]
I cut the day down to a list on the wall:
Fix number seven, then answer the call.
Move number nine to the top of the screen,
Pretend that the red marks are amber or green.
At twelve, test the build; at one, write the note;
At two, keep the panic away from my throat.
At three, tell the manager progress is real;
At four, lose the language for what I can feel.

[Pre-Chorus]
Five days became four before Monday was through,
Four days became three when the scope doubled too.
The schedule kept shrinking; the feature set grew.
I measured the hours. The hours measured you.

[Chorus]
Deadline minus mercy, countdown without grace,
Every missing minute leaves a mark across my face.
Deadline minus mercy, numbers closing in,
Every task completed lets another task begin.
I divide the damage so the damage will not show;
Deadline minus mercy—three, two, one, then go.

[Verse 2]
A message arrived with “one minor request,”
Then opened twelve branches and buried the rest.
A field became tables, a table became
A billing service with audit by name.
They asked for migration without any pause,
Backward compatibility, purpose and cause.
I copied the estimate, halved it on cue,
And watched my own promise become something due.

[Pre-Chorus]
Three nights became two when they moved up the test,
Two nights became one when they added the rest.
The schedule kept smiling in corporate blue;
I measured the hours. The hours cut through.

[Chorus]
Deadline minus mercy, countdown without grace,
Every missing minute leaves a mark across my face.
Deadline minus mercy, numbers closing in,
Every task completed lets another task begin.
I divide the damage so the damage will not show;
Deadline minus mercy—three, two, one, then go.

[Drum Break]
[Tom-heavy drums continue the five-beat countdown while strings strike on the missing sixth pulse.]

[Bridge]
What if the number is not what it seems?
What if the estimate measures our dreams?
What if the date on the slide is a blade
Sharpened by people who will not be swayed?
Still I return to the list and the pen:
One fix, then one fix, then one fix again.

[Breakdown]
One task for the morning.
One lie for the call.
One meal left unopened.
One crack in the wall.
One night without sleeping.
One face in the glass.
One promise of Friday
That Friday will pass.

[Final Chorus]
Deadline minus mercy, countdown without grace,
Now the missing minutes live across my face.
Deadline minus mercy, figures wearing skin,
Every task completed lets the silence further in.
I divided all the damage; now the pieces overflow.
Deadline minus mercy—three, two, one—
But where do I go?

[Outro]
[The five-beat pattern continues after the final vocal, but the ensemble deliberately omits the expected last note.]