[Intro]
[A wash of warbling analog synth pads (Prophet-5) fades in, sounding like a warped cassette tape.]
[A crisp, dry drum machine kick enters, four-on-the-floor.]
[A funky, picked bass line drives the groove.]

[Verse 1]
I’m a flight risk in the lobby of the socialite convention
Performing autopsies on the tension in the room
I brought a script but I missed the cue for intervention
Now I’m sweeping up the silence with a plastic broom

My serotonin’s unionized and went on strike again
Leaving picket lines of panic across my frontal lobe
I try to signal to the mothership, “come pick me up, my friend”
But I’m just a lonely astronaut inside a snow-globe

I’ve got a pocket full of pleasantries I purchased on the dark web
Counterfeit charisma for the chemically inept
I smile like a predator, or maybe like a spiderweb
Catching nothing but the dust of all the promises I kept

[Pre-Chorus]
[Bass drops out. Arpeggiated synths spiral upwards, building tension.]
And I’m calibrating, calculating, waiting for the kick
Is there a cure for being fundamentally this sick?
Or am I just a phantom limb attached to society?
A side-effect of pharmaceutical propriety?

[Drum fill: Taka-taka-taka-taka-SNAP]

[Chorus]
[Explosion of sound. Lush synth layers, driving bass, euphoric melody.]
Oh, I’m out of sync, I’m out of time, I’m out of practice
Hugging porcupines and calling them a cactus
I want the chemistry, the alchemy, the simple human touch
But every time I reach, I think I analyze too much

I’m holding onto hellos like they’re currency in crash
Collecting receipts of the conversations I trash
I just want to be happy, is that too much to ask?
Or is the face beneath the face just another kind of mask?

[Verse 2]
[Instrumentation strips back to bass and drums. Vocals are dry and close.]
I’m running beta tests on personality ver. 2.0
But the software isn’t compatible with the hardware of the heart
I tried to interface with peers at the kaleidoscope show
But I was busy tearing all the color schemes apart

They talk of weekends, weddings, weather, and the wine list
I talk of entropy, heat death, and the void
I’m number one on the “most likely to be declined” list
A sentient mistake that nature wants destroyed

I’m hoarding compliments like rations in a bunker
While the insults pile up like landfills in the sun
I’m a philosophic, catastrophic, melancholic clunker
Trying to finish races that I never should have run

[Pre-Chorus]
[Synths return, wider and louder.]
And I’m oscillating, ventilating, hyper-focusing
On every microscopic movement that you’re noticing
Am I a person or a pattern recognition error?
A momentary lapse in your psychological terror?

[Chorus]
Oh, I’m out of sync, I’m out of time, I’m out of practice
Hugging porcupines and calling them a cactus
I want the chemistry, the alchemy, the simple human touch
But every time I reach, I think I analyze too much

I’m holding onto hellos like they’re currency in crash
Collecting receipts of the conversations I trash
I just want to be happy, is that too much to ask?
Or is the face beneath the face just another kind of mask?

[Bridge]
[Music drops to a minimal, filtered bass-line and whisper tracks. The "voice in the head" effect.]
Doctor, doctor, give me the news
I’ve got a bad case of the "born to lose"
Is it nature? Is it nurture? Is it quantum bad luck?
I’m a black box recorder in a burning truck

I’m the observer effect, I change what I see
By simply being the disaster that is me

[Build up with frantic arpeggios, tempo feels like it's accelerating]
So give me the placebo! Give me the sugar pill!
Tell me I’m normal! Tell me I’m real!
Tell me I’m not just a gap in the reel!
TELL ME I’M REAL!

[Instrumental Break]
[A soaring, weeping synth solo played on a Yamaha DX7 patch, mimicking an 80s saxophone melody but purely electronic.]

[Chorus]
Oh, I’m out of sync, I’m out of time, I’m out of practice
Hugging porcupines and calling them a cactus
I want the chemistry, the alchemy, the simple human touch
But every time I reach, I think I analyze too much

I’m holding onto hellos like they’re currency in crash
Collecting receipts of the conversations I trash
I just want to be happy, is that too much to ask?
Or is the face beneath the face just another kind of mask?

[Outro]
[Drums fade. Synths sustain and slowly detune.]
Just a little out of sync (Just a little)
Just a little out of phase (Just a little)
I’m navigating mazes in a permanent daze

Hold the hand, miss the beat, trip the wire
Set the whole social contract on fire

I’m sorry, I’m trying, I’m sorry, I’m true
I just don’t know how to be human with you.

[Hard cut to silence on "you"]