[Verse 1 — 7/4, steady folk pulse] I got used to lightning in my hands, code blooming in a day like shifting sands. Files appeared before I could blink, ideas poured out faster than I could think. But the counter ticks down, slow as rust, and every token feels like borrowed trust. [Verse 2 — 7/4, tightening cadence] I fed the machine like a hungry god, watched it spin gold thread from every flawed half‑formed thought I tossed its way. Didn’t notice how much I leaned on the sway. Now the meter’s red, the well runs thin, and the silence creeps beneath my skin. [Change-Up — 3/4, folk waltz, softer delivery] When the tokens run out, the world slows down. The gears stop turning, the hum leaves town. I’m left with the weight of the work undone, and the long cold walk back to doing it alone. [Verse 3 — 7/4, jittery, addict imagery] I chase the re‑up like a midnight fix, refreshing screens, counting clicks. Every prompt feels heavier now, every answer costs more somehow. The machine wants more than I can pay, and I’m bargaining with hours of my day. [Breakdown — sparse, breathy, 3/4] Stop— wait— the craving hits. Hands shake for the old quick-wits. I’d trade sleep, I’d trade pride, just to feel that surge inside. [Verse 4 — 7/4, desperation rising] I pawned my plans for another burst, but each refill hurts worse than the first. The price climbs high, the drain runs deep, and the promises I made, I couldn’t keep. I’m learning the cost of leaning too far, on a mind that isn’t mine, burning like a star. [Change-Up — 3/4, resigned folk sway] When the tokens run out, you face the truth: you forgot the strength you had in youth. The craft you knew, the skills you built, buried under speed and dependency guilt. [Spoken Word — dry, close-mic] I remember when I could do this myself. When patience wasn’t a punishment. When learning felt like climbing, not begging for another hit. I let the rush replace the craft, and now I’m paying for it. [Verse 5 — 7/4, moral turn] So I’m taking back the hours I lost, learning again, no matter the cost. If the tokens fade and the lights go dim, I’ll still have the knowledge carved in limb. The machine can help, but it can’t replace the slow-built skill of the human pace. [Outro — 3/4, soft resolve] When the tokens run out, and the night grows long, I’ll still have my hands, I’ll still have my song. Learn all you can before the counter hits zero— that’s the only way to walk out a hero.
