[Intro] [minimal synth pad and low humming bass, soft heartbeat pulse, distant choir echoes and ambient room tone] [Verse 1] [low, intimate lead vocal; restrained electronic pulse and sparse echoing synth stabs] I filed it in March, return receipt requested, a form with a number, a stamp, and my name. Thirty days came and went, then ninety, uncontested, a letter that told me: still under review, same as the one from July, and the one before that. [Chorus] [driving drums enter; pulsing modern synths, featured strings and tight stacked vocals, whispered harmonies beneath] Somebody has to sign for this — somebody has to say they got it. Not an answer, just a hand on the page, proof that the question landed somewhere. Return receipt requested. [Verse 2] [heartbeat pulse and humming bass return; pizzicato strings and echoing electronic stabs under the low vocal] I called the number twice, got transferred to a queue, a voice said “I hear you” like she'd practiced saying it. I started a folder — every date, every name, every avenue — not for a lawsuit, just so the next one who tries it won't start from nothing. [Chorus] [strings swell over driving drums and pulsing synths; stacked chorus vocals stay tight, with faint choir echoes] Somebody has to sign for this — somebody has to say they got it. Not an answer, just a hand on the page, proof that the question landed somewhere. Return receipt requested. [Bridge] [everything drops to hushed voice, soft synth pad and a single held cello note; heartbeat fades, whispered harmonies and distant choir echoes] Maybe they never meant to answer. Maybe the silence was the whole design. But I kept a copy, and I dated the folder, and I taped the receipts in a straight, careful line. This isn't about winning anymore — it's about leaving the door easier to find. [Final Chorus] [hopeful key change; full arrangement surges in with driving drums, dramatic percussion, soaring synths, featured strings and brass stabs; tight stacked vocals rise over choir echoes, digital falling effect before the last line] Somebody has to sign for this — somebody has to say they got it. Not an answer, just a hand on the page, proof that the question landed somewhere, and I'll keep asking till it does. Return receipt requested. [Outro] [drums and brass fall away; echoing synth stabs dissolve into ambient soundscape, heartbeat slows, one last cello note rings beneath a fading choir echo]
