[Verse 1] You walked into the room like it was staged, Like you were checking your own lighting rig. You introduced yourself with your job title, And a small sigh that was far too big. You held your coffee cup at the precise angle, Required by the glossy magazine. And every syllable was carefully edited, Nothing un-curated, nothing mean. [Pre-Chorus] You speak in headlines, In bullet points, and quotes. You’re terrified of silence, And the things that no one notes. I saw the panic flash across your eyes, When the conversation turned to weather. A topic too benign, too un-designed, To glue your brittle self together. [Chorus] And now we’re caught in the crossfire, Of the Un-Curated Conversation. It's the fear of the genuine flaw, A minor panic in a major nation! We talk about the novels that we should have read, The gallery we just pretend to see. Oh, give me chaos, give me awkwardness! Don’t present your life so perfectly! [Verse 2] The hostess asks you where you purchased the shirt, You pause to calculate the correct response. Do you name the boutique or the department store? Which one aligns with your desired élan? You’re standing like a statue, waiting for applause, For your excellent taste, your subtle lean. But I see the small bead of sweat on your forehead, You’re cracking up behind the polished screen. [Pre-Chorus] You speak in headlines, In bullet points, and quotes. You’re terrified of silence, And the things that no one notes. I saw the panic flash across your eyes, When the conversation turned to weather. A topic too benign, too un-designed, To glue your brittle self together. [Chorus] And now we’re caught in the crossfire, Of the Un-Curated Conversation. It's the fear of the genuine flaw, A minor panic in a major nation! We talk about the novels that we should have read, The gallery we just pretend to see. Oh, give me chaos, give me awkwardness! Don’t present your life so perfectly! [Bridge] You want to be the subject of the profile. You want the pull-quote and the photo op. But the camera’s off, darling, the camera’s off! You can let the performance stop! The real connection, the mess that makes it matter, Is standing outside, waiting for a key. But you’re too busy adjusting your sweater, For the picture no one is going to see! [Guitar Break] [Chorus] And now we’re caught in the crossfire, Of the Un-Curated Conversation. It's the fear of the genuine flaw, A minor panic in a major nation! We talk about the novels that we should have read, The gallery we just pretend to see. Oh, give me chaos, give me awkwardness! Don’t present your life so perfectly! [Outro] Perfectly... so perfectly... Un-curated... Un-curated...
