My Best Hour Is Hour Eleven (Workaholic's)

Lyrics

[Intro]
The house is breathing. 
Slow, even breaths. In, out. 
You are asleep. The dog is asleep.
The city has exhaled. 

[Verse 1]
But my light is on. 
Just this one. The cone of the IKEA Tertial, angled low. 
My mug is cold. Peet's Major Dickason's Blend, since nine.
It's you and me now, blinking cursor. 
You're the only one who asks for more.
You and the hum from the Western Digital drive, my oldest friend.
Every other screen is dark.
Every other voice is quiet.
This is the starting gun. This is the clean air.

[Chorus]
They get the tired man, the distracted man.
The man who says 'uh-huh' to a story about their day.
But you... you get the surgeon.
My best hour is hour eleven.
When the world has given up, I begin.
This is not a cage. This is the throne.
My best hour is hour eleven.

[Verse 2]
Your phone lit up an hour ago. 
A text from Sarah. A meme, probably. 
I saw the green glow on the ceiling and I didn't move.
Because the flow was here. That warm current.
I was untangling cell A42 in the Q3 projections.
I was finding the right word for the final paragraph of the pitch.
It felt more real than your breathing in the other room.
It felt like holding the whole world on a pin.

[Chorus]
They get the tired man, the distracted man.
The man who says 'uh-huh' to a story about their day.
But you... you get the surgeon.
My best hour is hour eleven.
When the world has given up, I begin.
This is not a cage. This is the throne.
My best hour is hour eleven.

[Bridge]
Is this love? 
This quiet obsession?
This preference for a problem I can solve?
...Yes. 
Yes, it is. It's the only one that's pure.
No moods, no history, just the work.
Just the beautiful, clean, solvable work.

[Outro]
One more line.
One more save.
Command-S. 
The screen goes black.
Good night, my love.