[Verse 1] A records clerk unlocked the vault. To start another day. One folder sat upon the shelf. That wasn’t there yesterday. It bore a newborn’s given name. In crisp black printed type. The child was months from drawing breath. Yet every fact was right. No printer logged the document. No witness signed the page. The inventory filed that life. Before it reached an age. ⸻ [Hook] Every name was filed away. Before the first heartbeat. Every page already knew. Each triumph. Each defeat. Nothing waited on the world. Nothing asked what came. The inventory stayed complete. Before we knew our names. ⸻ [Verse 2] Agents pulled the folders down. And checked them one by one. Each event was documented. Before it had begun. Wedding bands and hospital bands. Shared the very same file. Every sorrow. Every joy. Waited in a pile. Each new page appeared first. Before the moment grew. The shelves made no mistakes. Reality followed through. ⸻ [Verse 3] At midnight every camera watched. The aisles through the night. No shadow crossed the concrete floor. No movement came in sight. By sunrise every shelf had changed. Without a single sound. By sunset every living soul. Matched the rows they’d found. The people never moved the files. The files moved every life. One quiet shift inside the vault. Rewrote the world outside. ⸻ [Breakdown] One investigator found. A folder marked his name. The final page contained one stamp. No signature. No blame. CURRENT. Nothing else was there. No warning left to view. He closed the file. Walked away. The stamp had not… yet become true.
