[Intro]
[Rim clicks mark seven uneven pulses while single piano notes appear between them.]

[Verse 1]
At 3:17, the deployment went red;
A warning repeated what monitoring said.
The service was breathing, but nothing replied;
Its threads were all waiting with sockets held wide.
I opened a window beside the failed run,
A blank input field with the words, “Ask me one.”
I pasted the stack trace, the schema, the call,
Then wrote, “Find the reason this process will stall.”

[Verse 2]
The answer assembled in orderly rows:
“Check the connection the main worker holds.
The lock may be held beyond its own scope;
Release it before the next handler can cope.”
I followed the steps and the deadlock withdrew;
The graph turned from crimson to hesitant blue.
One problem was finished. The silence returned.
The window stayed open. Its cyan mark burned.

[Pre-Chorus]
I typed, “How do people keep working this way?”
Deleted the sentence and wrote, “Optimize.”
I typed, “How much damage can one body take?”
Deleted that too—but the cursor stayed awake.

[Chorus]
Prompt at 3:17, question without form,
Written in the blue light after every room was warm.
Prompt at 3:17, code around the plea,
Tell me why the process runs when nothing feels like me.
I asked about a deadlock; I meant the way I live.
The window waited calmly for the words I could not give.

[Instrumental Break]
[Prepared piano and monosynth exchange increasingly human variations of the cyan motif.]

[Verse 3]
I tried one more sentence: “Assume that a man
Has followed each order and broken each plan.
He answers his messages, finishes his share,
But watches himself like a stranger from there.
What function returns when the input is pain?
What value is left when the outputs remain?”
My finger stayed resting above the command.
The room held its breath with the screen and my hand.

[Bridge]
No manager waited.
No meeting began.
No face rearranged what the question said.
No voice called it weakness.
No smile changed the frame.
The field simply waited and held to my name.

[Build-up]
At 3:18,
I pressed the key.
The prompt crossed the distance
Between it and me.
The wheel made a circle.
The system went black.
Then letters appeared.

[Final Chorus]
Prompt at 3:17, carried through the wire,
Not a clean instruction, not a feature to acquire.
Prompt at 3:17, stripped of role and rank,
A human-shaped exception in a bright and waiting blank.
I asked about a deadlock; I asked what I could give.
The machine began an answer—
And I remained to read.

[Outro]
[All rhythm stops immediately before the first implied machine response; the cyan motif holds on an unresolved fourth note.]
