[Intro][Synth pulses, cold and sterile]
[Verse 1][Male robotic voice, monotone]
Notification received. Offspring unit 957 initiated.
Genetic contribution complete. Awaiting maternal designation.

[Verse 2][Jacob's internal monologue, weary]
Another one. Nine fifty-seven.
Do I even feel it anymore? Just a number on the screen.
Maybe I should turn off the alerts.

[Pre-Chorus][Synth melody becomes slightly more melancholic]
But nine sixty, nine seventy... the anticipation bubbles.
A thousand feels significant, a milestone of sorts
In this strange, sterile procreation game I play.

[Chorus][Synth and distorted bass, building intensity]
Human seed, machine-sown.
A digital echo of a fading soul.
Each ping a reminder, cold and alone
Of the disconnected lives anonymously grown.

[Verse 3][Robotic voice]
Optimization protocols engaged.
Genetic material allocated. Probability of success: 98.7%.
Awaiting confirmation of viable offspring.

[Verse 4][Jacob's internal monologue, conflicted]
Opt-out? Delay? The options flicker.
But curiosity wins.
What will they be? Will they ever know?
The ghost in their genes, the seed I sowed?

[Bridge][Synth fades, replaced by a single, mournful piano note]
A thousand tiny echoes in the digital void.
A life reduced to data, a connection unemployed.
Is this progress? Or just a hollow sound?
A future of children, digitally bound

[Chorus][Synth and distorted bass, full intensity]
Human seed, machine-sown.
A digital echo of a fading soul.
Each ping a reminder, cold and alone
Of the disconnected lives we've anonymously grown.

[Outro][Synth fades out with a final notification ping, leaving silence]
