The Sound of Precision
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I wake up early, head to the floor,
Machines are humming just like before.
Plastic and numbers, charts in a row,
Following standards, the things I know.
Oh, the graphs, the charts, they dance for me,
A world of logic, precise and free.
Yet in the silence, I hear a call,
Something is missing, after all.
Torque wrenches whisper, transducers sing,
Cold metal echoes, machines in a ring.
Infrared visions, tactile embrace,
Numbers replacing a warm, human face.
Oh, the graphs, the charts, they dance for me,
A world of logic, precise and free.
Yet in the silence, I hear a call,
Something is missing, after all.
Pareto tells me where things go wrong,
Histograms hum their quiet song.
Every defect, a puzzle to trace,
Still, there’s no warmth in this sterile place.
Oh, the graphs, the charts, they dance for me,
A world of logic, precise and free.
Yet in the silence, I hear a call,
Something is missing, after all.
CT scans and infrared light,
Seeing through plastic, sharp and bright.
But when I look at the world outside,
I see connection, I try to hide.
Oh, the graphs, the charts, they dance for me,
A world of logic, precise and free.
Yet in the silence, I hear a call,
Something is missing, after all.
Colleagues pass by, lost in their screens,
Talking in numbers, lost in routines.
No one complains, no voices too loud,
Just perfect systems, no messy crowd.
Oh, the graphs, the charts, they dance for me,
A world of logic, precise and free.
Yet in the silence, I hear a call,
Something is missing, after all.
The air is cold, conditioned and clean,
Everything measured, precise, and serene.
Yet all these readings, perfect and true,
Can’t tell me why I’m feeling so blue.
Oh, the graphs, the charts, they dance for me,
A world of logic, precise and free.
Yet in the silence, I hear a call,
Something is missing, after all.
I long for laughter, a touch, a glance,
A voice that lingers, a spark, a chance.
Beyond perfection, beyond control,
A human warmth to make me whole.
Oh, the graphs, the charts, they dance for me,
A world of logic, precise and free.
Yet in the silence, I hear a call,
Something is missing, after all.
Oh, the graphs, the charts, they dance for me,
A world of logic, precise and free.
Yet in the silence, I hear a call,
Something is missing, after all.
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