[Intro – close, calm] The light comes on. That’s the trick. [Verse 1] I press the button and it answers like it cares. Clean panel. Clean glow. A tiny yes that costs nothing. Doors close with that soft confidence like the system knows where it’s going. There’s even music—barely there— to make waiting feel like a feature. It moves. You can feel it move. Like progress you can’t measure but you’re expected to applaud anyway. And every time the doors open, it’s the wrong floor. Not bad. Not dangerous. Just… not mine. [Pre-Chorus] And the worst part? It never says “no.” It just keeps me in motion until I confuse movement with arrival. [Chorus] I keep pressing for the floor I need. The light comes on. The building doesn’t. Up, down— polite little chimes— like failure with good posture. [Verse 2] People tell me it’s normal. “Maybe you’re asking wrong.” “Maybe you have to earn it.” “Maybe the timing.” So I change how I stand. How I speak. How small I make my wants so the room doesn’t feel accused. I try the careful version of me. I try the funny version. I try the one who never needs much. Same result: the doors open, and it’s still not my floor. I start memorizing excuses the way other people memorize lyrics. At least one of those is honest. [Pre-Chorus] This place runs on hope because hope is cheap fuel. It keeps you quiet. It keeps you inside. [Chorus] I keep pressing for the floor I need. The light comes on. The building doesn’t. Up, down— polite little chimes— like failure with good posture. [Bridge – stripped, close] There’s a directory by the panel. Small print. Smudged corners. I lean in like a person trying not to panic. My floor isn’t missing. It’s not even listed. That’s the moment it turns clean: I wasn’t unlucky. I was never included. [Final Chorus – heavier] I keep pressing for the floor I need. The light comes on. The building doesn’t. So I stop pressing. I stop bargaining with buttons. If this place won’t take me, I take myself— stairs, exit, whatever works— and I leave that little glow behind still pretending it’s an answer. [Outro – quiet] The light stays on after I walk away. Of course it does.
