[Verse 1] I remember the weight of the fountain pen The ruler and parchment, again and again Mapping out measures for every part The slow, steady labor of a composer’s heart The quill and the ink, and the copies we’d make Waiting for players with a name at stake [Verse 2] No searching for venues or voices to hire No chasing the ghosts of a village choir The rehearsal room's empty, the silence is gone Replaced by a spark that ignites at the dawn Sixty short seconds to hear the refrain The effort of years washed away in the rain [Chorus] From the ink to the ether, the barrier falls I’m hearing the echo through virtual halls No more the struggle, just vision and light The music is breathing and taking its flight [Bridge] It’s a miracle born of a binary code A jubilant end to a long, heavy road I’m the master of sound, the curator of grace With a thousand musicians in a digital space [Outro] But when the ghost in the machine starts to jam And the solo goes on like a runaway tram Four minutes of wandering into the weeds I’m grabbing the DAW for the silence it needs Fade it out early, forty-five seconds back Before the AI loses track of the track
