Still Replaceable

Copyright © 2026 https://suno.com/@mich_bergde Mike Berg All rights reserved. Clock in. Lights on. No applause. Let’s run. Alarm at six, my body moves, not by will, just by the rules. Coffee burns, my face is numb, another day already done. Every motion fits the plan, no space left to be a man. I don’t question, I don’t stall, I just answer every call. No reflection, no delay, numbers lead me through the day. If you ask me how I feel, I just say: “I’m running still.” I’m a working machine, always ready, always clean. No fire, no scream, just a perfectly running routine. Working machine, oiled with time, cold and keen. I don’t shine, I don’t dream, I just work in between. Meetings talk but nothing moves, every promise pre-approved. Motivation on the wall, while they trim me to fit it all. They say: “You matter, you belong,” mean: “Keep going, don’t go wrong.” I nod along, I know the deal, feelings stored behind the wheel. No slowdown, no return, only lessons never learned. If I slip, they re-align, till even doubt performs on time. I’m a working machine, always ready, always clean. No fire, no scream, just a perfectly running routine. Working machine, plugged in deep, rarely seen. I don’t bend, I don’t lean, I just work in between. Maybe I was more than this, more than output, speed and risk. Maybe something’s still inside, buried under work and time. Still running. Still useful. Still replaceable. I’m a working machine, but I feel the crack between. If I stop for just one beat, will they notice what I mean? Working machine… or a human in disguise? If I pull the plug tonight, do I live — or just survive? Clock out. Lights off. Still breathing. Enough.