[Intro — quiet, conversational] Funny thing about a button— everybody sees you push it. Nobody sees what it took to get your hand there. [Verse 1] It starts somewhere before the music, before anybody knows, in a half-remembered story that you didn't mean to tell. Coffee cooling on the table, morning coming through the blinds, one thought bumps into another, and pretty soon they rhyme. Could be something from your childhood, could be something from today, could be one small line somebody said that wouldn't go away. You talk until you find it, you listen till it's clear, and somewhere in the middle a song begins to appear. [Chorus] Before the button, there was living. There was losing, there was giving. There were miles underneath these shoes, there were things I made it through. Before the button, there was something worth sitting down and talking through. The machine can give it music— but the story came from you. [Verse 2] I used to move folks' furniture, build the truck from floor to roof, learned the heavy things need somewhere solid underneath their weight. Songs aren't all that different. You don't start up at the top. Put the honest pieces underneath and let the pretty stuff come last. Some days we laugh our way there, some days memory takes its time. Sometimes what sounds like wandering is just looking for the line. And I don't need to understand every wire behind the wall. I just know when something sounds like me— and when it don't at all. [Chorus] Before the button, there was living. There was losing, there was giving. There were miles underneath these shoes, there were things I made it through. Before the button, there was something worth sitting down and talking through. The machine can give it music— but the story came from you. [Bridge — rhythmic, easy, band stays restrained] First comes living. Then comes telling. Then comes listening for what's underneath. Move a word. Leave some breathing. Lose the clever if it hides the meaning. Find the rhythm. Keep it human. Don't dress up what's already true. Then when everything is ready— push the button. Let it through. [Instrumental — 8 bars, warm electric guitar] [Final Chorus — gentle lift] Before the button, there was living. There was loving, there was giving. There were people, there were places, there were years that left their traces. Before the button, there was something only conversation knew. The machine can give it music— but the living gave it truth. [Outro — nearly spoken] So yeah... I push the button. But it comes last.
