{"title":"20 Minute Cycle","style":"indie folk rock, warm acoustic guitar, live drum feel, warm upright bass, raw male vocal, natural room ambience, unpolished human performance, conversational delivery, studio quality, 88 bpm, deadpan storytelling, dry vocal mix, un-quantized groove, subtle pitch imperfections, loose rhythm"} [Vocal Profile: warm conversational baritone, dry vocal recording, natural breathing, subtle pitch imperfections, relaxed indie delivery] [Intro: { voice: "soft male", delivery: "mumbled off-mic sigh", instruments: "isolated acoustic guitar strum with squeaky string finger slides" }] {"bpm": 88} (Heavy sigh, single cough off-mic) (Simple, slightly un-quantized acoustic guitar riff in G major) Yeah... okay. [Verse 1: { voice: "male", delivery: "lazy, conversational, trailing off", instruments: "acoustic guitar + quiet bass thumb" }] Quarter’s jammed in machine number four, I kicked the side, but it didn't do much more— Just made a sound like a dented tin can. The guy in the corner’s reading a magazine, From twenty eleven, if you know what I mean. He didn't look up at all. I don't blame the man. [Verse 2: { voice: "male", delivery: "rhythmic speaking-singing, dry", instruments: "soft kick drum + warm bass enter" }] Your blue sweater is spinning around in the drum, It shrank last month, but you still wear it some. I forgot to bring the dryer sheets again today, Now everything’s gonna stick together anyway With static electricity in the air. (Acoustic guitar pauses for half a beat, slightly off-grid) Just like us, I guess. Or a matched-up pair. [Pre-Chorus: { voice: "male", delivery: "rising dynamic, natural throat strain", instruments: "light snare tap + piano chords enter" }] I was gonna call your phone around ten, Then I looked at the clock on the wall again— It was 10:42, sitting right in view. Felt like the moment slipped away from me, So I bought a bag of stale salted peanuts to eat. [Chorus: { voice: "male soaring but raw", delivery: "unpolished belt, cracking slightly on the high note", instruments: "full acoustic band, loose live feel" }] And the world keeps turning in a twenty-minute cycle, Draining out the water, rinsing out the soap. Nothing heavy, nothing tragic in the final, Just two dollars and fifty cents worth of hope. Yeah, two dollars and fifty cents. [Verse 3: { voice: "male", delivery: "quiet, introspective", instruments: "stripped back to guitar + soft piano" }] There’s a bleach stain on my left shoe down below, Looks like a map of North Carolina, you know. I stood there staring at it for five full minutes, Wondering if you’d notice it when I walked in it. You probably won't even glance or look around— You’re reading that book about the mountain ground. [Bridge: { voice: "male", delivery: "muttered over building acoustic strum", instruments: "rising tempo, loose tambourine" }] I could tell you that I’m sorry about Tuesday night, Or I could just bring back the towels clean and bright, Completely dry and folded up right. Which one actually helps you more? (Short pause, acoustic string noise) I think I know the answer at the door. [Final Chorus: { voice: "male", delivery: "full chest voice, slightly ahead of the beat", instruments: "full band, warm bass, ringing acoustic chords" }] And the world keeps turning in a twenty-minute cycle, Draining out the water, rinsing out the soap. Nothing heavy, nothing tragic in the final, Just two dollars and fifty cents worth of hope. Yeah, holding on to the lint trap tight, Hoping we don't fade out of the wash tonight. [Outro: { voice: "male", delivery: "fading, off-handed mumble", instruments: "acoustic guitar trailing off, dryer thud in background" }] Machine four just stopped cold. (Single acoustic chord strummed, string buzz at the end) Time to fold.
