[Verse 1] The screen is a glow of the phosphorescent green, The strangest new language that we’ve ever seen. The Howell is coding the logic of the byte, Working through the hours of the long, digital night. The Howey is building the hardware and the frame, Giving the invisible a number and a name. The punch-cards are stacked in a tower on the floor, Opening the latch on a pixelated door. The world is a sequence, a zero and a one, The work of the modern age has only just begun. [Chorus] Oh, pulse of the circuit, and the flash of the light, We’re processing the future in the middle of the night. The Howell to logic, the Howey to store, We’re navigating labyrinths we’ve never seen before. The ink and the acre, the iron and the chip, We’re holding all the history within a silicon grip. The system is rising, the system is vast, We’re encoding the future and erasing the past. [Verse 2] The Howell is an architect of data and of flow, Tracking every movement that the city needs to know. The Howey is a technician of the solder and the wire, Feeding the machine with an electric, neon fire. We’re typing in the commands, we’re waiting for the load, Traveling the reaches of the information road. The memory is finite, the memory is gold, With the secrets of the empire in the circuit being told. A system of precision, a system of the bit, Trying to find the harness that we finally can fit. [Chorus] Oh, pulse of the circuit, and the flash of the light, We’re processing the future in the middle of the night. The Howell to logic, the Howey to store, We’re navigating labyrinths we’ve never seen before. The ink and the acre, the iron and the chip, We’re holding all the history within a silicon grip. The system is rising, the system is vast, We’re encoding the future and erasing the past. [Bridge] The keyboard is clacking, a rapid, frantic sound, As we spread the new logic to the cities all around. The Howell and the Howey are the masters of the screen, Controlling all the patterns of the digital machine. We are the pioneers of the database and soul, Finding in the sequence a brand new type of control. The fiber is the river, the fiber is the line, Connecting every person in a binary design. We’re the pulse of the motherboards, we’re the pulse of the key, Searching for the meaning of the data we can see. [Verse 3] The evening is cooling in the flicker of the CRT, Watching all the information running fast and free. The twenty-second song is a ripple in the RAM, Trying to find the truth in the digital program. The Howell is finished, the command has been run, Resting in the glow of the artificial sun. The Howey is satisfied, the connection is complete, With the world of the future laid out beneath our feet. We’ve come a long way from the quiet of the hill, With the silicon and circuit and the machine’s steady thrill. [Chorus] Oh, pulse of the circuit, and the flash of the light, We’re processing the future in the middle of the night. The Howell to logic, the Howey to store, We’re navigating labyrinths we’ve never seen before. The ink and the acre, the iron and the chip, We’re holding all the history within a silicon grip. The system is rising, the system is vast, We’re encoding the future and erasing the past. [Outro] The monitor fades to the black and the gray, The data of the day has finally drifted away. The Howell is syntax, and the Howey is code, Carrying the weight of the new-fashioned load. The twenty-second part is written in the byte, As we shut down the system and we turn out the light.
