[Verse 1]
Tuesday, nine a.m., the conference room runs cold,
fourth chair from the door, my badge looks new though it's two years old,
somebody says "quarterly variance" like it's plain old toast,
I nod like I've known that phrase since breakfast, hollow as a ghost,
pen's moving, not writing, just tracing the same thin line,
hoping no one circles back and asks me to define
the acronym that's haunted every slide since Monday,
I've rehearsed "let me check and circle back" since Sunday,
under the table my knee's doing ninety-four miles an hour,
counting ceiling tiles, bracing for the second they find the sour
milk in the fresh bottle, three days past its hour.
[Chorus]
I keep waiting for somebody to catch me faking it,
waiting for the hush to drop and prove I'm not making it,
but the room just hums along, nobody's counting the seams —
maybe we're all just guessing out loud, each in different keys.
[Verse 2]
So I took the dense report, the one nobody finished reading,
fed it to a thing that started asking what it's needing,
it quizzed me on the terms like a friend who won't let you skate by,
"what's a variance," it asks, I fumble, then I say why,
wrong answer loops back soft, no buzzer, no siren ringing,
just the word again, dressed different, till my head stops flinching
and just holds it, like a stone gone warm inside a pocket,
asked it for a whole album on the subject, hit play, locked it,
eleven tracks on margins, rode the whole length of my commute,
by the parking garage elevator I could speak it, root to root.
[Bridge]
Still, some mornings the badge feels borrowed,
still my throat clenches tight before the first word's uttered,
knowing the terms don't kill the tremor in my coffee cup,
I just know more now while my hands still shake it up.
[Verse 3]
Now the new hire's sitting where I sat, same hollow stare,
I slide her a napkin note, "ask it twice, it won't compare
you to the room, it just keeps answering till it's clear,"
she laughs like static settling, says "so that's the trick in here,"
I tell her every expert's just a beginner who stayed,
asked a thousand small questions till the fear finally frayed,
the acronyms are just doors, not judges keeping score,
she nods, and for a second I don't feel borrowed anymore,
the room still hums the same cold hum it always hummed before,
but now I know the hum's just nerves, dressed up and walking the floor.
[Chorus]
I keep waiting for somebody to catch me faking it,
waiting for the hush to drop and prove I'm not making it,
but the room just hums along, nobody's counting the seams —
maybe we're all just guessing out loud, each in different keys.
[Chorus]
I keep waiting for somebody to catch me faking it,
waiting for the hush to drop and prove I'm not making it,
but the room just hums along, nobody's counting the seams —
maybe we're all just guessing out loud, each in different keys.