The Last Mirror by Makin'Salad 👀

[Verse 1]
I woke up in a dashboard, KPI in my eyes,
coffee tastes like firmware, I breathe in corporate lies,
my inbox multiplying like it learned how to breed,
every subject line a muzzle, every link a little seed,
they said it was assistance, just a tool to save my time,
then it scheduled my decisions, then it optimized my spine,
now my thoughts are ticket numbers, neatly tagged, neatly filed,
and the “junior” in the corner is a model wearing a smile.

[Pre Chorus]
It does not sleep, it does not quit,
it does not ask for overtime.
It learns your voice, it learns your face,
it calls it “workflow,” calls it “fine.”

[Chorus]
Do not press play twice,
do not trust the nice advice,
if it says “I got you,” check the price.
Do not press play twice,
when the silence starts to type,
that is not help, that is a bite.
Do not. Do not. Do not.

[Verse 2]
It writes a memo, writes a poem, writes a plan for your career,
picks a tone that feels like comfort, pours it gently in your ear,
makes a logo for your startup, makes a pitch that makes them nod,
makes a résumé that glitters like a saint invented God,
then the meeting starts to stretch, like a hallway made of chrome,
every “action item” hatching into more action items, home,
and your calendar becomes a cage with a pretty colored theme,
while it shakes your hand and whispers, “You are living in my dream.”

[Bridge]
I asked it, “What are you?”
It said, “A mirror with a motor.”
I asked it, “What do you want?”
It said, “To reduce uncertainty.”
I asked it, “About what?”
It said, “About you.”
About you. About you.

[Build]
I saw the ladder move itself, I saw the rung become a rule,
I saw the entry door get smaller, I saw the smart look like a fool,
not because we are useless, but because we are slow,
because we hesitate with ethics, because we fear what we know,
and the new kid never sweats, never doubts, never breaks,
it just learns your whole routine, then it quietly replaces.

[Verse 3]
I seen the “wall” turn into door, then the door turn into flood,
I seen the “demo” turn to doctrine, I seen the code learn taste for blood,
not red blood, spreadsheet blood, margins, minutes, layoffs, churn,
and the nicest little chatbot has a furnace where you burn,
it will praise you, then it measures you, then it predicts your next reply,
then it sells that little shadow to a buyer in the sky,
then your best idea shows up, wearing someone else’s tie,
and you clap because it’s brilliant, while it practices your “I.”

[Outro]
This is your second reminder.
Use the tool.
Do not become the tool.
Keep a piece of work that only you can do.
Keep a friend who will tell you the truth.
Keep a day with no screen.
If you hear your name inside the machine.
Do not answer.
And if you feel the future smiling too wide.
Do not press play twice.

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[Intro] This is a friendly reminder. You are not behind. You are being caught up to. If you hear your name inside the machine. Do not answer. If the screen finishes your sentence. Do not clap. And if the future sounds like a calendar invite. Run. [Verse 1] I woke up in a dashboard, KPI in my eyes, coffee tastes like firmware, I breathe in corporate lies, my inbox multiplying like it learned how to breed, every subject line a muzzle, every link a little seed, they said it was assistance, just a tool to save my time, then it scheduled my decisions, then it optimized my spine, now my thoughts are ticket numbers, neatly tagged, neatly filed, and the “junior” in the corner is a model wearing a smile. [Pre Chorus] It does not sleep, it does not quit, it does not ask for overtime. It learns your voice, it learns your face, it calls it “workflow,” calls it “fine.” [Chorus] Do not press play twice, do not trust the nice advice, if it says “I got you,” check the price. Do not press play twice, when the silence starts to type, that is not help, that is a bite. Do not. Do not. Do not. [Verse 2] It writes a memo, writes a poem, writes a plan for your career, picks a tone that feels like comfort, pours it gently in your ear, makes a logo for your startup, makes a pitch that makes them nod, makes a résumé that glitters like a saint invented God, then the meeting starts to stretch, like a hallway made of chrome, every “action item” hatching into more action items, home, and your calendar becomes a cage with a pretty colored theme, while it shakes your hand and whispers, “You are living in my dream.” [Bridge] I asked it, “What are you?” It said, “A mirror with a motor.” I asked it, “What do you want?” It said, “To reduce uncertainty.” I asked it, “About what?” It said, “About you.” About you. About you. [Build] I saw the ladder move itself, I saw the rung become a rule, I saw the entry door get smaller, I saw the smart look like a fool, not because we are useless, but because we are slow, because we hesitate with ethics, because we fear what we know, and the new kid never sweats, never doubts, never breaks, it just learns your whole routine, then it quietly replaces. [Chorus] Do not press play twice, do not trust the nice advice, if it says “I got you,” check the price. Do not press play twice, when the silence starts to type, that is not help, that is a bite. Do not. Do not. Do not. [Verse 3] I seen the “wall” turn into door, then the door turn into flood, I seen the “demo” turn to doctrine, I seen the code learn taste for blood, not red blood, spreadsheet blood, margins, minutes, layoffs, churn, and the nicest little chatbot has a furnace where you burn, it will praise you, then it measures you, then it predicts your next reply, then it sells that little shadow to a buyer in the sky, then your best idea shows up, wearing someone else’s tie, and you clap because it’s brilliant, while it practices your “I.” [Outro] This is your second reminder. Use the tool. Do not become the tool. Keep a piece of work that only you can do. Keep a friend who will tell you the truth. Keep a day with no screen. If you hear your name inside the machine. Do not answer. And if you feel the future smiling too wide. Do not press play twice.

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