Perfectly Prepared
The part of me that never gets to join the party. While everyone else in the tavern drinks and laughs, he runs the cold math that keeps us all alive. Perfectly prepared? Overly prepared, even. He's earned a break he'll never take.
There's a part of me you'll never see inside the tavern's light
He isn't drinking, isn't laughing, isn't in the fight
He isn't healing, isn't grieving, doesn't have the time
He's the architect of every single, cold, and perfect crime
The one who runs the numbers, the one who checks the gear
The one who built this fortress from a single, perfect fear
And he is the reason you're still breathing, the reason you're alive
The cold and hard and brutal math that helps a man survive
You can call his methods cruel, you can say he has no heart
But he's the one who's perfectly prepared to play the part
He is the sentry at the gate, he is the final, steady hand
The uncompassionate manager of this whole broken land
He doesn't need a welcome, and he doesn't need a friend
He's only calculating how this all will have to end
He sees a world of variables, a universe of flaws
He is the cold and sober sentry in a room of lost causes
And while you're talking feelings, he is analyzing threats
He is the only one who's hedging all your stupid, losing bets
And he is the reason you're still breathing, the reason you're alive
The cold and hard and brutal math that helps a man survive
You can call his methods cruel, you can say he has no heart
But he's the one who's perfectly prepared to play the part
He is the sentry at the gate, he is the final, steady hand
The uncompassionate manager of this whole broken land