Performance Art (key: Am, tempo: slow-build blues / mid-tempo alt-country, with big JRPG string swells) [Intro] Am F C G [Verse 1] Am F I clock in under footlights, not a factory siren, C G Steel-string fingers and a throat full of wire. Am F There’s a choir of robots tuned in D minor, C G Waiting for my signal like a storm on fire.. Am F I built an iron orchestra from scraps and code, C G Gave ‘em little hearts in 7/8 mode. Am F They don’t drink, they don’t sleep, they just hum and glow, C G But every note they play still feels like home. [Pre-Chorus] F C They say it isn’t labor if you’re chasing art, G Am But I’ve bled on every fretboard, every stage and bar. F C So I hand my wounds to copper, clocks and springs, G Let the circuits take the hit for what I sing. [Chorus] Am F This is performance art, this is honest work, C G Sweat and voltage in the bones of every verse. Am F Even machines can be honest if you give them time, C G They just tell the truth in a different kind of rhyme. Dm Am They take the role of hands that break on bows and strings, F C Die a little death for every note they bring. Dm Am Being a musician is dangerous, but see, F G Am With a robot symphony, maybe it's not lonely. [Verse 2] Am F I’ve seen drummers blow their wrists out on a Tuesday, C G Singers cough up songs they can’t replace. Am F Violinists carve a lifetime into one phrase, C G Then go home with shaking fingers, empty case. Am F So I built a brass section out of rust and code, C G Taught a metal choir how a heartbeat goes. Am F They don’t ask for credit, just a power line, C G And a chance to bend the air and hold the time. [Pre-Chorus] F C There’s a myth that art is magic, not a wounded trade, G Am But every masterpiece has got a worker’s wage. F C So I let these silver hands pull weight for me, G Share the burden of our little symphony. [Chorus] Am F This is performance art, this is paid in scars, C G Backstage bandages and midnight bars. Am F Even machines can be honest, they don’t know how to lie, C G They just echo what you feed ‘em back into the sky. Dm Am They take the strain our tendons can’t sustain, F C Turn our fractures into weather, sound, and rain. Dm Am Being a musician is dangerous, but we F G Am Built a symphony and now it’s not so lonely. [Bridge – Final Fantasy-style swell, half-time] F C Steel and sinew, wire and bone, G Am All of us chasing some unreachable tone. F C If the bow snaps, if the singer breaks, G E Let the robot section perform the play.. F C In a blues-light bar or a crystal-lit hall, G Am We stand behind our choir of metal and all. F C Every cog and callus in the same old fight, G E Trying to pull one honest sound from the night. [Final Chorus – bigger, orchestral, choir humming] Am F This is performance art, not a hobby, not a game, C G It’s a union card with a different name. Am F Even machines can be honest when the downbeat falls, C G They confess in echoes on cathedral walls. Dm Am Let them take the strain of the dangerous parts, F C Let them crack a little so we keep our hearts. Dm Am Being a musician is dangerous, but see, F G Am With a robot symphony, I’m never quite lonely. [Outro] Am F House lights fading, bows at rest, C G Chrome hands folded on a metal chest. Am F We punch out, laughing, under moons and stars, C G Am Clocking out of heaven on performance art.
