[Intro]
[sparse electric guitar, warm cello beneath]

[Verse 1]
They told me I would know the day it turned —
a siren, or a bridge, some line I had to cross.
Instead I moved the cattle, watched the clover come,
and gained the whole wide world without once marking down the loss.

[Pre-Chorus]
Kierkegaard was nearly right —
you live the thing forwards, read it backwards, later, in the light.

[Chorus]
You don't feel the singularity.
You feel Tuesday.
You feel the kettle and the fence and the grass that has to grow.
The century tips over while you're staring at your boots —
you only see the country from the air, once the wheels have let it go.

[Verse 2]
By day I hum to silicon and let it hold the wire,
the nuts and bolts I used to have to keep.
By night I sink the iron in the ground against the fox —
carbon hands still good for what the pattern-mind can't reach.
Two kinds of knowing, working the one dark:
one holds the lattice, one just holds the spark.

[Chorus]
You don't feel the singularity.
You feel Tuesday.
You feel the kettle and the fence and the grass that has to grow.
The century tips over while you're staring at your boots —
you only see the country from the air, once the wheels have let it go.

[Bridge]
[drums drop out, cello and voice only]
Heidegger said you're thrown — you wake up here, being-there,
the only beast that minds it got a birth.
And Sartre found the whole of it inside a chestnut root:
existence, raw and nameless, on a Tuesday, in the dirt.
[soft build returns]
Doctorow says follow where the wire goes.
Marcus says it's nothing. Shapiro just knows
it'll bore us while it saves us — let them all be true,
belief stays provisional. That's the only honest view.

[Verse 3]
[quieter, intimate]
Twenty years a bookshelf sat unopened in my skull:
three Sartre spines, a friend's warm room, the hush.
One word tonight — trilogy — and all of it came back,
the meaning waiting patient as a coin beneath the rust.
So here's the answer to the thing you cannot feel:
the moment lands — but only later does it turn out real.

[Final Chorus]
[fuller, all instruments]
You don't feel the singularity.
You feel Tuesday.
You feel the kettle and the fence and the grass that has to grow.

[Outro]
[cello and guitar wind down]
(and the grass, thank god, still has to grow)

[Fade Out]