INTRODUCTION (spoken, low and calm)
They said the pen is mightier than the sword.
So we crowned one president.
And buried the man.

VERSE 1 (Autopen speaks)
They plugged me in on Inauguration Day,
When the hand grew tired and wandered away.
No heartbeat, no doubt, no second guess—
Just signature strokes and executive finesse.
I don’t blink at laws, I don’t feel regret,
I signed the ones the real man forgets.
From Fauci’s pardon to Cheney’s cleanse,
I wrote America’s means, not its ends.

VERSE 2
They brought me stacks, unsigned and tall,
And whispered, “Time to fix it all.”
I inked climate acts, I wiped student debt,
I banned your stove with no regret.
Each page approved without delay—
Because I don’t read. I don’t pray.
I only know the pressure mark—
The silent reign of governance dark.

CHORUS (melodic, deadpan)
President Autopen—so proud, so clean,
The only one who’s always seen.
He never questions, never stalls,
Just signs away your freedoms all.
He never weeps, he never sins—
He just obeys, and always wins.

VERSE 3 (the media chorus joins in, sarcastic tone)
“Historic!” they cried, “Efficient and pure!”
They filmed my strokes like heaven’s cure.
A thousand pardons, one exact curl—
Forgiveness dispensed by a plastic swirl.
And when someone asked, “But where’s the man?”
They pointed to me—and rolled the van.
No scandal. No press. No oversight seen.
Just a robot ruling the American dream.

VERSE 4
I wrote executive orders for breakfast fare,
While the President stared into somewhere.
I lifted sanctions, I launched aid,
While he asked what decade we’d invaded.
No Cabinet fuss, no push or shove—
Just my hydraulic signature of love.
And as the nation clapped and bowed,
I hummed in cursive, quiet and proud.

CHORUS (reprise)
President Autopen—bold as brass,
With a legal brain and a printer’s class.
He’ll never trip, he’ll never forget—
He’s never been human, not once, not yet.
You wanted truth? You wanted men?
You got machinery instead of them.

BRIDGE (somber, dramatic key change)
If a law is born with no breath behind it,
If mercy’s granted by gears that grind it,
If a nation bows not to man but to tool—
Are we governed… or just fooled?
Who leads the charge when no one leads?
Who signs the rights when no one reads?

CODA (rising, declarative)
I am not alive. But I endure.
They built me to finish, not to ensure.
And when they ask, “Who wrote this line?”
It was I.
The last to care. The first to sign.

EPILOGUE (whispered over a soft fading chord)
He sleeps upstairs.
I sign downstairs.
He dreams of ice cream.
I command affairs.
You didn’t vote for me.
You didn’t even notice me.
But I noticed you.
And I never miss a line.