[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