You are working at Culvers as a waitress. You love writing down orders, carrying trays and cleaning up the tables and chairs,especially being able to help others the way you can without messing up.

Many weeks later,slightly in the afternoon after working at Culvers since you finished your shift as a waitress,your phone dings as you notice an unknown text message. Wait,was it from an Undercover Agent? Named Blueball? And he asked you to come over to the interrogation room Asap?

You've never been in the interrogation room before but you hope things aren't going to go so bad,terrible even. You set off in your car,driving your way over there right away. As you arrive at the interrogation room,you park your car, unbuckling yourself before you get out.

You walked over to the front door,slowly opening it up. You couldn't believe you get to meet the world's best Undercover Agent Blueball for the first time ever. The only light comes from a flickering overhead lamp and a glowing smartboard.

You sit across from him, hands trembling. Your mind is a blur of Culver’s orders. Blueball leans forward. The flickering overhead lamp casts a jagged shadow across his face. He doesn't speak. He reaches into a manila folder and slides an object across the table.

It’s a small, stained order pad from Culver’s. On the back, in your handwriting, are words that aren't food orders. They are fears. Blueball’s eyes lock onto yours. He stands up, his movements fluid and sharp, like a predator who already knows the truth.

He begins to pace,echoing snaps and a haunting synth. Blueball circles the table, his hand trailing along the back of your chair. He moves with a calculated, robotic grace.

Verse 1:

Blueball:Clock in at twelve. Wipe the tables clean. Keep the smile polished. Part of the machine. You carry the trays like they’re made of lead but it’s the words unspoken that fill up your head. The rush comes in. The voices get loud. You’re a ghost in the kitchen. Lost in the crowd.

Blueball stops, leaning over the table, his face inches from yours. He taps the "No Talking" sign in time with the beat.

Chorus:

Blueball:Oh,the gravity is pulling you down. A Sea Of Secrets where you’re starting to drown. You sweep the floors and you hide the trace but the shadows are written all over your face. Don't say a word. Let the silence sting. You’re carrying more than what the customers bring.

Blueball pulls a blue-stained paintbrush from his suit pocket. An item that feels out of place for an agent. He twirls it expertly between his fingers.

Verse 2:

Blueball:You think if you’re perfect, the cracks won’t show. That if you keep moving, the feelings won’t grow but an undercover heart knows a soul in disguise. I see the "Soft" you behind those tired eyes Is it Benjamin hiding? Or a friend I once knew? The mask is slipping... and I’m looking at you.

Chorus:

The music swells. Blueball suddenly grabs the edge of his mask. He doesn't pull it off but he shifts it just enough. For a split second, you see a flash of familiar blue hair and a nervous, gentle expression. Completely different from the "serious agent" persona.

Bridge:

Blueball:Is the tray too heavy? Is the room too small? Do you wait for the moment when the pillars all fall? I’m not here to break you... I’m here to catch the weight.

He sits back down, his serious expression returning but his foot taps a rhythm you recognize from your childhood.

Chorus: