Song title: "A Room After Hours"
Language: English

[Intro]

[Fingered nylon-string guitar circles the piano motif beneath one sustained viola.]

[Verse 1]

At seven-ten I clear the queue.
The final ticket fades to grey.
I clear a space beside the keys
And push the working day away.
A notebook opens on my knees,
Its paper wider than the grid.
No milestone waits beyond the page.
No estimate demands a bid.

[Pre-Chorus]

I write down genres, years and names,
Small constellations without claims.
No one will grade the path I take.
No one can call this joy a mistake.

[Chorus]

In a room after hours, I answer to none.
No target can tell me when wonder is done.
I build without proving; I choose what I hear.
The self I misplaced is suddenly near.
In a room after hours, beneath the warm lamp,
The grid becomes music, the blueprint a map.

[Verse 2]

I ask the machine where rhythms crossed,
Which records changed a city's sound.
It offers dates, but not the cost
Of every song that turned me round.
That part is mine: a midnight train,
A kitchen light, a younger face.
I build a list for winter rain
And feel another grammar wake.

[Chorus]

In a room after hours, I answer to none.
No target can tell me when wonder is done.
I build without proving; I choose what I hear.
The self I misplaced is suddenly near.
In a room after hours, beneath the warm lamp,
The grid becomes music, the blueprint a map.

[Piano Interlude]

[The piano develops the three-note motif into a warm six-note melody as strings enter one voice at a time.]

[Bridge]

What if a project need not pay?
What if its worth outlives the day?
What if the point is simply this:
To make, to hear, to not dismiss?

[Build-up]

I spent so long producing proof
I nearly lost the living root.
Tonight no verdict waits outside.
The only rule is: stay and try.

[Final Chorus]

In a room after hours, I answer to none.
No deadline can swallow the work just begun.
I build without proving; I choose without fear.
Old pieces of myself begin to appear.
In a room after hours, the silence is ours:
A keyboard, a notebook, unmeasured hours.

[Outro]

[Acoustic guitar and piano finish together without drums.]

A page.
A chord.
A start.