[Title: The Metrics Are Fine] [Male, spoken] Put the phone down. No, seriously. The number is not going to improve because you stared at it harder. [Female, breathless] But the graph dipped! [Male] It’s a graph. They do that. [Verse 1 — Male] You uploaded at a quarter past seven, with a thumbnail polished clean. You checked it while brushing your teeth, then checked it in the washing machine. You opened three analytics tabs, then four for peace of mind. The audience is not hiding in there; there’s nothing left to find. [Female] Should I change the title? Should I pin a plea? Should I write “please watch this” under every reply I see? [Male] You could make the finest little picture in the history of mankind. If nobody wants the subject, that picture stays behind. [Chorus — Both, enormous] The metrics are fine! The metrics are fine! The line went down a little, but the line can change with time! The metrics are fine! Stop refreshing the shrine! You made a thing and sent it out— that’s already a sign! [Post-Chorus — Female] I changed the font! I moved the face! I added three exclamation points and softened all the space! [Male] You have redesigned the envelope. [Female] The letter’s still inside. [Male] Exactly. [Verse 2 — Female] I watched a man explain the secret from a rented office chair. He said the first two seconds matter, so I screamed into the air. I copied all his timing, I copied all his phrasing, I copied every facial move and still got twelve impressions waiting. [Male] Twelve is not a tragedy. [Female] It is when eleven are my mother. [Male] Then she is loyal. [Both] That counts for something! [Breakdown — Female, frantic] Hello, forum strangers, I have followed every chart. I posted during lunch hour, then I posted after dark. I used a question in the title, then removed it for intrigue. Why does everybody else go viral when my masterpiece gets three? [Male, dry] Because three people saw it. [Female] That is not the answer! [Male] It is a number. You asked the number. [Chorus — Both, faster] The metrics are fine! The metrics are fine! Your masterpiece can rest! A quiet room is not a verdict, and a dip is not a test! The metrics are fine! Close the glowing shrine! Make the next one stranger, make the next one yours, and leave the graph behind! [Bridge — Male, accelerating] You are not a vending machine that takes a clip and gives a crown. You do not feed it perfect captions until the internet kneels down. [Female] But what if I upload at sunrise? [Male] Then you’ll be tired at sunrise. [Female] What if I use a different opening? [Male] That one might actually help. [Female] What if I stop looking? [Male] Now you’re getting somewhere. [Both, building] Check it—close it—make it—leave it! Change the plan but don’t believe it! Numbers wobble, numbers slide! They are passengers, not your guide! [Instrumental Solo — crooked brass, toy piano, frantic muted guitar] [Final Verse — alternating] [Male] Your little film is not a court case. [Female] Your little graph is not your soul. [Male] The world can miss a clever thing. [Female] That doesn’t make the thing less whole. [Male] You can learn what held attention. [Female] You can sharpen what felt slow. [Both] But if you turn your chest into a dashboard, you’ll forget the reason that you showed. [Final Chorus — Both, triumphant] The metrics are fine! The metrics are fine! Let the tiny number sit there while you make another line! The metrics are fine! The room is still your own! You do not need a million strangers to prove you made a home! [Outro — Male, calm] Now close the page. [Female, distant] Just one more look? [Male] No. [Female] What if it changed? [Male] Then it can change without you. [Both, whispered] Make it. Leave it. Make it. Leave it.
