“Glass Pulse” [Verse 1] I watch the city breathing through the windows of my phone. Your face appears in fragments, a ghost in monochrome. The night reflects in pixels, blue light on my hands— I’m here, but half of me is signal in the sand. [Pre-Chorus] I don’t know where I end and the light begins— a soft, electric pulse moving under my skin. [Chorus] Touch me through the glass, let me feel your pulse again. Are you waiting in the wires, or just drifting where I’ve been? We’re a heartbeat split in data, half-human, half a trace— two shadows in the network that still know each other’s face. [Verse 2] Your voice arrives distorted, but I feel the truth inside— a warmth behind the static that no algorithm hides. The cables hum like secrets, the room forgets to breathe— I reach into the flicker, hoping you don’t leave. [Pre-Chorus] Sometimes I think we’re made of code— just soft, imperfect lines that never fully load. [Chorus] Touch me through the glass, let me feel your pulse again. Are you waiting in the wires, or just drifting where I’ve been? We’re a heartbeat split in data, half-human, half a trace— two shadows in the network that still know each other’s face. [Bridge] If I disappear, will you follow the noise, the quiet little glitch that still carries my voice? Or will we fade like forgotten tabs— lost in the clutter of everything we had? [Final Chorus] Touch me through the glass, let me feel your pulse again. I don’t need the real or virtual— just the part where it begins. We’re a heartbeat split in data, half longing, half a space— still reaching through the distance for the warmth behind your face.