Cut-Up Calendar (R1 January)

[Intro] Streetlight shimmer, sticky keys, I’m late again—again. My tongue trips: crisp scripts, quick clicks, clipped lips—amen. [Verse] January headlines: “R1’s cheap,” and my boss says “prove it.” I’m brewing burnt coffee, looping demos, trying not to lose it. I type too fast, vowels scatter, consonants clatter in the mix, Stutter edits—t-t-t-today—like my rent is paid in ticks. “Low-cost reasoning,” they cheer; my hours get cost-cut. I laugh, then swallow it—salt-sweet—like a half-sung hiccup. [Pre-Chorus] I practice phrases I can’t place: rarely really ready, My throat’s a metronome, my heart’s unsteady-steady. [Chorus] If the model’s faster, why am I slower to breathe? I’m slicing my sentences into something I can believe. Cut-up calendar, glue-stick vows—don’t let me disappear, I want a future I can pronounce, out loud, in here. [Bridge] Boss says “automate,” I say “okay,” then I make it human— Add a stumble, add a blush, add a maybe to the music. R1 on my screen, cold blue glow on my hands, I keep my name in the waveform so I still understand. [Outro] Crisp scripts, quick clicks—I soften it: kiss, skip, quit. Tomorrow I’ll say it clean. Tonight I’ll remix it.