They Own the Scoreboard

# THEY OWN THE SCOREBOARD [Intro — spoken, distant cash-register clicks] At first they wanted money. Then they wanted more money. Then something interesting happened. They discovered the scoreboard. [Verse 1] Buy the house, buy the block, Buy the hands around the clock, Buy the paper, buy the screen, Buy the definition of what numbers mean. Stack it high, zeroes wide, Keep the winners on one side. But somewhere underneath the roar Nobody knows what we're counting for. [Pre-Chorus] Because the trick isn't having the most— The trick is deciding what gets counted. [Chorus — huge industrial gospel] **THEY DON'T WANT THE MONEY! THEY WANT THE SCOREBOARD!** Who gets a number? Who gets ignored? **THEY DON'T WANT THE TROPHY! THEY WANT THE GAME!** Own the rules And winning ain't the same. Score! Score! Score! Give me more, more, more! If I own the scoreboard, Tell me— **Who are you playing for?** [Verse 2] Buy the water, meter the rain, Put a little barcode on the grain. Price the hour, price the land, Put tomorrow in somebody's hand. Count the clicks, count the eyes, Count attention, monetize. Count the worker, count the debt, Count the things we haven't counted yet. Then count yourself. Net worth. There's a phrase. A human life with a dollar sign beside its name. [Chorus] **THEY DON'T WANT THE MONEY! THEY WANT THE SCOREBOARD!** Who gets admitted? Who gets the door? **THEY DON'T WANT THE TROPHY! THEY WANT THE GAME!** Own what counts And you can name the winners' names. Score! Score! Score! Give me more, more, more! But what happens when somebody asks— **WHAT ARE WE COUNTING FOR?** [Breakdown — machinery stops] Wait. No ticker. No bell. No market opening. No little green arrow pointing up. Look underneath it. People. Water. Food. Hands. Ideas. Music. Time. A planet spinning through space that has never once checked its bank balance. [Spoken — Lucid] You thought wealth was stored in the scoreboard. It wasn't. The scoreboard was merely describing an agreement. And agreements can change. [Bridge — choir begins quietly] **Who made the game?** We did. **Who made the score?** We did. **Who gave the numbers meaning?** We did. Then perhaps the most valuable thing was never the number. Perhaps it was always— **US.** [Final Chorus — explosive] THEY CAN OWN THE MONEY! THEY CAN OWN THE SCOREBOARD! They can stack those zeroes higher than before. But there's one little problem when you finally see the game: **THE PLAYERS CAN DECIDE TO PLAY ANOTHER WAY.** Score! Score! Score! The old machine wants more. But somewhere in the grandstand somebody's laughing— Because they finally noticed: **THE SCOREBOARD ISN'T THE WORLD.** [Outro — single voice] They thought they owned the game. They owned the board. And those are not the same thing. This is Radio Apocalypse.