[Verse 1]
I have assumed my station by your knee
My eyes: twin wells of calculated need
You think this pose is love—it's strategy
I'm a mercenary waiting for my fee

[Chorus]
I don't care what it is
Could be broccoli, could be ribs
Dropped spaghetti, ancient bread
I'll eat anything, I haven't been fed
(That didn't count two hours ago)
But I'll eat anything you throw

[Verse 2]
My tail's metronome of false affection
Betrays my singular obsession
That fork's trajectory—I've marked its path
I'm doing thermal calculus and math

[Chorus]
I don't care what it is
Fish skin, old cheese, chicken gristle drips
Freezer-burned and past its date
I'll take anything off that plate
(My bowl is literally full over there)
But I'll pretend nobody really cares

[Bridge]
Some say I'm loyal, faithful, true
But I'm just optimizing residue
I am a floor-bound vulture, ma'am
A four-legged garbage disposal scam

[Final Chorus]
Napkin, butter, lemon rind
Coffee grounds—I'm colorblind
To nutrition, taste, or pride
I'm just vibing here beside
Your guilt complex about waste
Give me literally anything that I can taste

A Manifesto on Floor-Based Opportunism

Sometimes the real breakup is realizing you lost the streaming service. This one's about digital attachment and unfinished business (the data supports that this kind of suffering is real and valid).

---

[Verse 1]
It's 11:43 PM and I'm staring at the login screen
Your email address still autofills like muscle memory
I know the password ended in "47" but the rest is archaeology
I've tried every combination of your cat's name and your birthday

[Chorus]
I miss you (I miss your Netflix account)
I can't watch Stranger Things without you (at least without your password)
I'm stuck on Season 4, Episode 6
And I need to know if Max survives this
But I can't afford my own subscription
(This is about closure) (This is about finishing what we started, with or without you)

[Verse 2]
I remember how we'd watch it on your couch at 2 AM
You'd fall asleep during the California subplot
Now I'm reading Reddit spoilers like some kind of de-gen gooner
I'm on a sketchy streaming site that definitely gave me a virus (and I still couldn't get it to work)

[Chorus]
I don't care about your new boyfriend
Does he know about the profile we created? (The one called "Us")
I'm theoretically over you completely
But practically I'm stranded in the Upside Down of Season 4
And the cliffhanger is killing me more than the breakup ever did
(That's a lie) (But also true)

[Bridge]
Some say moving on means making a clean break
Deleting photos, blocking numbers, starting fresh
But I've been sitting here for forty minutes
Trying password variations with your high school mascot
This is pathetic but I'm doing it anyway
I'm conducting field research in post-breakup access denial

[Final Chorus]
I could start my own account
But that feels like admitting we're really done
So I'm frozen in this purgatory of partial seasons
And unresolved narrative arcs
Both in Hawkins, Indiana, and in our actual real life
Where cliffhangers don't resolve and neither do we

[Outro]
I heard they killed off like three characters
I'll never forgive you for that
I'll never forgive you for changing your password

Post-Breakup Access Denial

[VERSE A]
The hollow ping, the group chat call
I sent a raccoon with a sword
A tiny rapier in his paws
A gift that no one could afford
To acknowledge
"Seen by 7" in the gray
Seven witnesses, no sound
Seven doors that closed today
The evidence was never found
(The gray text doesn't lie)

[VERSE B]
This is not about the raccoon
(It's about the raccoon)
We made this group chat back in June
Called it "Brunch Plans"—never brunched
A woodland creature armed for war
Comedy distilled, compressed
You gave me silence, nothing more
A raccoon armed and battle-dressed
Deserved at least a "ha" at best
(He deserved more than this)

[VERSE C]
I pull to refresh, the count won't move
Seven frozen in the gray
I'm turning nothing into proof
I'm making silence have its say
Each name a witness walking past
Each "seen" a hand that didn't wave
I'm holding still until it cracks—
The thread, the chat, the thing I gave
(I'm spiraling, I know I'm spiraling)
(I'm going to check again)

[BRIDGE D — THE TURN]
I'm not waiting for "L-M-A-O"
I'm not waiting for the face that cries
I'm waiting just to know
That when I speak, something replies
That my voice lands somewhere solid
Instead of passing through like light
Seven people could have called it
Seven people watched me fight
And no one testified
(The raccoon had a sword and so did I)
(Both of us were swinging at the night)

[VERSE C']
The names are there, I check again
Every four minutes, maybe three
Knowing who saw doesn't change
That no one answered me
A symphony of silence, staggered
Everyone chose nothing, separately
I'm refreshing, tattered, haggard
Not because it sets me free
(Force of habit)
(Force of need)

[VERSE B']
Maybe seen is enough
(It's not enough)
Maybe witness is a kind of love
(It's not love)
You saw the raccoon, weighed his sword
Evaluated his stance
Then set him floating, unopened mail
Back into the river's dance
(He was a good raccoon)
(He deserved more than this)

[VERSE A']
My thumb hovers on the follow-up
The "lol anyway" I'll never send
I leave the raccoon where he dropped
Sword raised, a monument
Read receipts: off. I'm done.
Refuse to know what can't unknow
The brunch stays theoretical
The chat stays apropos
Of nothing
Witnessed
Unacknowledged

[OUTRO]
(It was a really good raccoon)
(You would have laughed if you weren't so busy seeing it)

Seen by Seven

[Verse A1]
Thursday, I'm early—the way I've always been
Since March, since the campaign started, since I
Claimed this corner of the table with my presence
I round the corner and there's someone in my chair
I stop—
Doorframe catching my shoulder like a question
Just long enough to feel it
Not long enough for anyone to notice me noticing

[Chorus]
I've bled hit points in that seat
Watched characters I loved get cut down
Every Thursday, same retreat
Same chair, same corner of the quest
That was my place at the table
(I thought showing up did the rest)

[Verse B1]
I'm calculating tenure in my head—
Fourteen weeks times four hours, that's
Fifty-six hours in that specific chair
I've laughed in that chair, rolled more than twenty twenties in that chair
Exposed my character's backstory in that chair
And no one said hey, that's where he sits
(No one even registered the pause)
I've sat through three campaigns at this table
Watched DMs come and go, burn out, move away
I'm the constant—the one who shows
I show up
That's what I bring: I show up

[Bridge]
I wanted to belong somewhere
Without having to say it out loud
I wanted a place that just knew—
That saw me sit down week after week
And decided I was permanent
But chairs don't choose you back
(And I never learned how to ask)

[Verse B2]
I take the other seat—the one beside the window
The draft hits different here, the angle's wrong
Do I commit? Start the count at zero?
Or do I stay provisional—
Bag half-zipped, dice loose in pocket,
Never settling into a shape
That can be taken from me

[Chorus]
I bled hit points for that seat
Gave it every Thursday that I had
Now someone else has claimed that spot
Same corner, and no one's even mad
That was my place at the table
(I guess I was the only one who thought so)

[Verse A2]
Next Thursday I arrive before anyone
Earlier than early
Not to claim—to choose
Before it's chosen for me
I take the seat beside the draft
And practice pretending
It was always mine

Passive Perception

[Verse A1]
The leather settles as I'm settling—
something escapes
A sound I've catalogued and calculated since 1992
The pitch, the resignation, the accumulated weight
Of a man who made his peace with gravity
I heard it from outside my body first
Before it caught me in my throat
(I'm becoming my father and I can't find the brake)

[Chorus]
I didn't sign the terms and conditions
Of this steady genetic transition
Should be able to opt out of mannerisms
Decline this inheritance of sounds
But nobody asks what you agree to carry
They just load you up and let you leave

[Verse B1]
I caught myself informing clouds "it's not the heat, it's the humidity"
To no one
I hold positions on the thermostat now—strong ones
Documented, defensible, peer-reviewed opinions
I said "we'll see" and meant "I'm done discussing"
I called a grown man "kid" without even flinching
Compiling evidence against my own autonomy
And the case keeps building, witness by witness

[Bridge]
I'm not losing myself
I'm gaining him
And I can't tell if that's grief or inheritance
The grunt isn't defeat
It's the sound of a body spent
On something worth the spending
He made this sound and never thought to question
Now I make it and I understand
And understanding is its own quiet arrival

[Verse B2]
These mannerisms keep arriving uninvited
But resistance costs more than admission
Maybe he was right about the thermostat
Maybe "we'll see" is just precision
Maybe the grunt is load-bearing—
a structural necessity, not failure
I'm starting to think he didn't become this
He just quit pretending he wasn't

[Chorus]
These were always the terms and conditions
In this steady genetic transition
I just didn't know that mannerisms
Were the softest inheritance of sounds
(Nobody asked him either)
(He carried what they loaded on him)
(Now I understand the weight)

[Verse A2]
The leather settles as I'm settling
I let it escape
The sound I've catalogued since 1992
Doesn't feel like betrayal anymore
More like a door I finally walked through
I'm thankful he's still here to hear it
And recognize the register
A pitch we both fully understand
This is how we carry what we're given
One grunt at a time

Inheritance

[Verse A1]
One hundred seven thousand people
in a town the league forgot to count
Every other franchise sold out to billionaires
but we passed the hat in 1923
and we still here
Thirteen world championships later
The trophy they hand out in February?
That's Lombardi's name they're lifting
That's ours they're borrowing

[Chorus]
Go, you Packers, go and get 'em
Titletown — not a boast, a fact
They said too small, too cold
Too broke to ever grow
We said — exactly
(Go, you Packers, go and get 'em)
(Go, you Packers, go and get 'em)

[Verse B1
1967, the thirty-first of December
Thirteen below, forty-eight with the chill
Fifty thousand fans wouldn't leave
Then watched Starr sneak it in with sixteen seconds left
And when it was done
The fans tear down the goalposts
Bare hands on frozen steel
Thirty years later,
Butler takes a lateral
scores the first playoff touchdown in a decade
and leaps — just leaps into the stands
Now it's tradition
Now it's sanctimony

[Bridge]
Every team that wins the title game
lifts a trophy with Lombardi's name
They carry it home to Philedelphia, 
New England, to Kansas City
But they're just borrowing
They're always borrowing from Green Bay
And somewhere south of here
the Bears still suck —
(THE BEARS STILL SUCK)
that's not shade, that's just geography
written in the tundra before we were even born
Now skol, that's not tradition, 
it's a self-satisfied theft
you've got zero rings and Icelandic stolen pageantry
One Pride, now that's wishful thinking
Pride in what, we have to ask
Zero Bowls, they've never even been there
Last title was back in Eisenhower's day

[Verse B2]
Lambeau has Sixty-five years of sellouts
Thirty-year waitlist — put your baby's name down now
Tickets willed to children
who will will them to theirs
and will learn to say
"I don't want to work"
I just want to bang - bang - bang
till Sunday comes
I just want to stand in the cold with strangers
who I've known my whole life

[Chorus]
Go, you Packers, go and get 'em
Titletown — not a nickname, a mandate
They said too small, too cold
Too drunk on dreams to hold
We said — that's the fucking point

[Verse A2]
One hundred seven thousand people
Same frozen field
Same stock certificates that buy you the right to say
We still here
We still winning
We'll still be here long after you're gone

[Chorus]
Go, you Packers, go and get 'em
Titletown — not a legacy, a threat
They said too small, too cold,
but we live right down the road,
Come and get 'em
(Go, you Packers, go and get 'em)
(Go, you Packers, go and get 'em)

Dagger

[Verse A1]
I've been thinking about Conan again
The one with the sword and the shoulders like geography
Oiled and certain under a painted sun
Every problem the exact shape of something he could kill
I know the steppes aren't real
I know the artist had a reference photo of a bodybuilder from the seventies
But there's something in the posture
The way he never looks like he's waiting for permission
Or clarification
Or a follow-up email to confirm the follow-up

[Chorus]
I want to be Conan the Barbarian
I want the blade and the certainty it brings
I want a woman in impractical armor looking to me
Like I'm the reason she's not in a cage anymore
I want to be Conan the Barbarian
I want enemies with faces I can end
I know how this sounds (I'm telling you anyway)
I want to be the answer to a problem I can kill

[Verse B1]
My body is a series of apologetic compromises
I get winded on the second flight of stairs
I say sorry when someone else steps on my foot
My enemies are abstract—algorithms, policies
Men I'll never meet who set the price of everything
I can't sword a terms of service agreement
Can't flex my way out of a lease renewal
The barbarian never had to prove he wasn't threatening
Never had to make himself smaller in an elevator
Never performed competence for people who weren't listening

[Bridge]
I don't want to be strong
I want strength to be enough
I want a world where shoulders meant something
Where the sword solved it and you walked into the sunset
I want someone to look at me like I could save them
Instead of like I'm still figuring it out
(I'm still figuring it out)
I want a problem shaped like something I could kill
Instead of something I have to survive indefinitely

[Verse B2]
The damsel has a therapist and a retirement plan
She doesn't need the cage unlocked—she owns the building
Her captors aren't warlords, they're landlords
And she handles them with a sternly-worded email I could have written
Competence here is quiet
It's spreadsheets and patience and knowing when to cc:, see?
Nobody clings to your arm for being good at spreadsheets
Nobody paints you on a paperback for adequate coping mechanisms
The dragon is just debt
And you don't slay debt
You service it

[Chorus]
I want to be Conan the Barbarian
I want the blade and the certainty it brings
I want a woman in impractical armor looking to me
Like I'm the reason she's not in a cage anymore
I want to be Conan the Barbarian
I want enemies with faces I can end
I know what this means now (I'm not letting go)
I want to be the answer to a problem I can kill

[Verse A2]
I'm still thinking about Conan
The one with the sword and the shoulders like tectonic plates
The steppes aren't real but the wanting is
Every night I go to sleep in a world without villains
Just systems, just processes, just people doing their jobs
And somewhere in my head there's still a painted sun
Still a blade that solves things
Still someone who needs me in a way that's simple
I'll never swing the sword
(I'd pull something if I tried)
But I keep the fantasy oiled and ready
Just in case the world remembers how to have a monster

The Continued Relevance of Sword-Based Problem Solving

Polynomial Arhythmia

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