Song title: "The Muse in the Circuit"
Language: English

[Intro]

[A dry sequencer repeats three notes until cello and human humming absorb the pattern.]

[Human]

[Verse 1]

I ask for roads between the styles,
For names erased from easy files,
For rhythms born where borders meet,
For ways a phrase can miss the beat.
A thousand doorways fill the screen,
All labelled, ordered, sharp and clean.
It offers twenty paths to start;
I keep the one that strikes the heart.

[Pre-Chorus]

Is help a crutch, a borrowed flame?
Does guidance thin the hand or name?
The pattern answers what it can.
The final choice remains with me.

[Chorus]

You are the muse in the circuit, not the blood in the song.
You can widen the doorway, but you cannot belong
To the ache in the harmony, the breath before words,
Or the private old reason one chorus is heard.
Muse in the circuit, illuminate:
I bring the memory; you bring the gate.

[Verse 2]

You do not miss the midnight train
Or know the smell of summer rain.
You never watched a friendship end
Or kept its song when words were spent.
Yet you can place a lantern near
The shelves I never thought to clear.
You trace a genre, name a line;
I test its truth against what is mine.

[Chorus]

You are the muse in the circuit, not the blood in the song.
You can widen the doorway, but you cannot belong
To the ache in the harmony, the breath before words,
Or the private old reason one chorus is heard.
Muse in the circuit, illuminate:
I bring the memory; you bring the gate.

[Duet]

[Machine]

Here are twenty ways to start.

[Human]

Only one can strike the heart.

[Machine]

Patterns shape a useful frame.

[Human]

Meaning needs a life and name.

[Bridge]

[Human]

The hammer never dreamed the house.
The compass never chose the south.
A lens may bring the stars in view;
The eye decides which one rings true.

[Build-up]

[Human]

Let the tool remain a tool,
No hidden god, no mindless fool.
Between rejection and belief,
I choose assistance, not relief.

[Final Chorus]

[Human]

You are the muse in the circuit; now the strings know your tone.
But the warmth in their answer is a warmth of my own.
You can widen the doorway and organise light.
I decide what is honest, what is ready, what is right.

[Both]

The machine holds the lantern; the human walks through.
The map may be offered—the journey stays true.

[Outro]

[Filtered harmony disappears while unprocessed voice, piano and cello complete the motif.]

[Human]

Not master.
Not ghost.
A lantern held near.
