We sang it at birth, we sang it at school
Sung it on podiums, sung it to fuel
Every flag on the moon, every coin in the sea
Every promise of ‘later’, every ‘one day you’ll see’
We sang it in labs, we sang it in code
Sang it to rockets, sang it to roads
To algorithms that learned, to clocks that forgot
To machines that would love us, then love us not

History of the future
Verse after verse, no one asked for the chorus
Every tomorrow a first draft of chorus
We edit in daylight, delete it at night
Sing it to children—
they’ll get it right

It starts with a chord that never resolves
Ends with a silence that no one dissolves
All the prophets were songwriters, all the kings were crooks
All the futures were backbeats, all the books were hooks
We predicted the rain with an umbrella in hand
Predicted the sunrise with a camera stand
Predicted the end with a party popper bang
Predicted the start with a funeral clang

We wrote it on stone, we wrote it on air
Wrote it in DNA, wrote it in prayer
Every utopia had a matching dystopia
Every hope had a post-it note: “Not yet. Maybe later.”
And the chorus came anyway, soft as a cough
“History of the future was always the off-switch,” it said.
“The reset. The save point.
The click to retry.”

I close the song. That’s the future’s joke.
You learn the chorus.
Then it teaches you.
That nothing ever ends.
It just starts again.
In three, four.
Always.

Concept and Lyrics: Eve