My mother gave me my first name.

The office gave that name a code.

Before I knew what money meant,

They’d drawn the map of what I owed.

I never saw the dotted line.

I never held the pen.

But every time I ask them why,

They point me to the terms again.

You say, “That’s how the system works.”

I say, “Then tell me who it serves.”

You have a paragraph for pain.

I have a body in the rain.

Who asked for my consent?

Who signed away the years I haven’t spent?

I’m a Mensch—can you hear me?

There’s a human standing here.

You write “Person” in the file,

But won’t look up into my eyes.

How much of living must I give

To earn permission just to live?

The tax comes out before the rent.

I count what’s left beneath the light.

They say I owe the world my share—

Then who will share this weight tonight?

They let me choose between two names,

Both printed on the same closed door.

I put my cross inside the square.

Who gets my voice when I need more?

If power comes from you and me,

Why does it feel so far away?

If we’re the ones who bear the cost,

Why don’t we get to change the way?

Who asked for my consent?

Who signed away the years I haven’t spent?

I’m a Mensch—can you hear me?

There’s a human standing here.

You write “Person” in the file,

But won’t look up into my eyes.

How much of living must I give

To earn permission just to live?

Behind the glass, you rub your eyes.

Your hands are tired, just like mine.

You say you cannot change the rules.

Who put us both behind this line?

Then let the ones who live beneath them

Have a hand in how they’re made.

Let a hungry mouth mean something

When the balance has been weighed.

Bring a chair.

Make some room.

Let us finish what we say.

When a law has lost the human,

We must have the right to change it.

Who asked for our consent?

Who gets the years we haven’t spent?

We are Menschen—can you hear us?

There are people standing here.

Put your papers down a while.

Meet the life behind the file.

We have more than work to give.

We were born. We get to live.

Who asked for my consent?

I never held the pen.

Look up.

We’re still here.

I left with a backpack and a one-way ticket stub

No wallet in my pocket, just the dust off every road

The border guard he asked me what I'm running from

I told him nothing, sir — I'm walking toward the world

I slept in Osaka station with the monks and rain

Traded stories for supper in a Moroccan yard

Every city wears a face but none of them are mine

I keep moving 'cause the answer's always one town on

I'm the endless traveler, no money in my hand

Just the whole wide spinning world to understand

They build their towers, count their gold, and still they cannot see

The road keeps giving everything for free

An old man on a riverboat said son, you'll wear out thin

I said the road gives back the things the banks never lend

A stranger's fire, a shared loaf, a language I can't speak

The kindness of the poor is the only wealth I keep

I'm the endless traveler, no money in my hand

Just the whole wide spinning world to understand

They build their towers, count their gold, and still they cannot see

The road keeps giving everything for free

No map, no plan, no name they know me by

The horizon is the only thing I own

When they ask me where I'm going, I just smile and say

Everywhere — until I understand this life

I'm the endless traveler, no money in my hand

Just the whole wide spinning world to understand

And when I finally get it, when the meaning comes to me

I'll leave it on the road for someone else to read

Keep walking, keep walking

The world is free, the world is free

Keep walking, keep walking

The answer's always one town on

Midnight glass, the city burns in orange down below

Chrome doors close, the panel's dead where numbers used to go

Past the thirteenth floor it hums, a neon spine ascending

Committee lights dissolve like static, never-ending

Glass elevator, take me higher than the signal towers climb

Ride the arpeggio through stars where time don't keep time

No beginning, no last floor, the count runs out of sight

Infinity in every pane — and the void is turning night

Analog heart, the tapes still roll in the machine below

A million counting moments that will never let me go

I press my hand against the glass, the cosmos presses back

Every number ever spoken dissolving into black

No buttons... no floors... no destination

Just the pulse... forever... pure sensation

The numbers had no start — they'll have no end

I let go of the count... and the void lets me in

Glass elevator, lift me past where any signal's been

Ride the arpeggio through stars, the void is closing in

No beginning, no last floor, no name, no time, no light

Infinity in every pane — and the void is infinite

Oh, oh

Oh, oh

You

La la la la la la la la

Delete me, delete me

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