Bilboard With A Pulse (Americana Storyteller)

Americana storyteller, acoustic guitar fingerpicking, understated vocals, dry wit, deadpan delivery, literary narrative, warm but unsentimental, upright bass, brushed snare, no pedal steel, no fiddle, no twang, folk sensibility, unhurried tempo, lived-in voice, wry, matter-of-fact

[Verse 1] I'm a billboard with a pulse, I'm the one you take home. I don't sleep, I just repost, I'm a shortcut on your phone. I don't care, truth or lie, they pay me to advertise. Never tried it, never will — here's my face beside the pill. [Chorus 1] You're the click in this schtick, you're the thumb that pays my rent. You're the product that I sell when you click on that bell — and if you don't, watch me lament. [Verse 2] Every inch of me is leased, there's a logo on my chest, I push a tea I've never tried and praise a coin I'd never buy. Vacations are a shoot, and breakfast sells grapefruit, and the man I hug in the spot? He is just another prop. [Chorus 2] You're the click in this schtick, you're the crowd I never meet. I live inside you rent free, all I ask is you believe in me, and you'll be as happy as can be. [Bridge] Whatever they pay me, that's what I believe, with faux sincerity, I wear it on my sleeve. And when the numbers start to slip there's a tearful little clip — soft light, no makeup, shaking voice, “I'm taking time to heal.” Comments full of hearts and prayers, a discount code below the tears. [Verse 3] You can hate me in the comments, you can call me every name — nobody counts the reason, they just count you all the same. You could scroll away this second, close the app and kill the light — but the billboard's only standing 'cause you watch it every night. [Chorus 3] You're the click in this schtick, you're the reason I exist. You're the product that I sell, and you're selling me as well every time you can't resist. [Spoken] Outro They pay me to advertise, and I don't care — truth or lie.

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