Piece Working for Peace

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V5.5

(Tempo: Mid-tempo, slightly urgent. Instrumentation: A driving, muted electric guitar bassline and a crisp, dry snare drum. Think Spoon meets The National.)

(Verse 1)
The calendar is a checkerboard of grey
Two hours here, three hours Tuesday
I’m refreshing the portal on my broken screen
Hoping for a shift in the vending machine
(Electric guitar enters with a sharp, rhythmic upstroke)
Got a degree in the closet under old winter coats
Now I’m drafting thirty-character summary notes
Selling a version of myself that can stretch
To whatever shape the algorithm wants to fetch.

(Chorus)
(Full band kicks in, bass gets fuzzy, vocals lift an octave)
And we’re dancing on the edge of the gig
Digging a hole that’s already too big
Yeah, the future’s a promise on a rolling contract
Sign on the line, try to keep it intact
Oh, the modern world is a temporary lease
And we’re piece-working, piece-working
Just to find a little peace.

(Verse 2)
(Drums drop out, just a pulsing synth bead and acoustic strumming)
Got an email at midnight saying "Thanks for the grit"
Followed by a link where the budget got split
No one ever fires you, they just let you fade
Like a bad receipt in the sun, slowly un-made
(Snare drum builds up a rolling crescendo)
I’m a contractor, freelancer, "independent force"
Which is corporate speak for "you’re on your own, of course."
Paying for my own teeth, renting out my time
Counting down the pennies to a silver-plated dime.

(Chorus)
(Full energy again, driving and melodic)
And we’re dancing on the edge of the gig
Digging a hole that’s already too big
Yeah, the future’s a promise on a rolling contract
Sign on the line, try to keep it intact
Oh, the modern world is a temporary lease
And we’re piece-working, piece-working
Just to find a little peace.

(Bridge)
(Tempo slows slightly. A melancholy, ambient guitar swell fills the space. Vocals are intimate, close to the mic)
They call it flexibility, they call it being free
But I'm tethered to a Wi-Fi signal out at sea
Is anybody else awake at 3 AM?
Staring at the spreadsheet, starting it again?
(Suddenly loud: a sudden, jagged guitar solo bursts in for four bars, mimicking anxiety, then cuts abruptly)

(Outro)
(Just the dry snare drum and a single bass note ticking like a clock)
Submitting the invoice.
Waiting on the net-thirty.
Submitting the invoice.
Hands a little dirty.
(Vocals trail off into a whisper)
Log out.
Shut down.
Next week’s a brand new town.
(Single, unresolved guitar feedback note rings out and fades)

2510/7500

(Tempo: Mid-tempo, slightly urgent. Instrumentation: A driving, muted electric guitar bassline and a crisp, dry snare drum. Think Spoon meets The National.) (Verse 1) The calendar is a checkerboard of grey Two hours here, three hours Tuesday I’m refreshing the portal on my broken screen Hoping for a shift in the vending machine (Electric guitar enters with a sharp, rhythmic upstroke) Got a degree in the closet under old winter coats Now I’m drafting thirty-character summary notes Selling a version of myself that can stretch To whatever shape the algorithm wants to fetch. (Chorus) (Full band kicks in, bass gets fuzzy, vocals lift an octave) And we’re dancing on the edge of the gig Digging a hole that’s already too big Yeah, the future’s a promise on a rolling contract Sign on the line, try to keep it intact Oh, the modern world is a temporary lease And we’re piece-working, piece-working Just to find a little peace. (Verse 2) (Drums drop out, just a pulsing synth bead and acoustic strumming) Got an email at midnight saying "Thanks for the grit" Followed by a link where the budget got split No one ever fires you, they just let you fade Like a bad receipt in the sun, slowly un-made (Snare drum builds up a rolling crescendo) I’m a contractor, freelancer, "independent force" Which is corporate speak for "you’re on your own, of course." Paying for my own teeth, renting out my time Counting down the pennies to a silver-plated dime. (Chorus) (Full energy again, driving and melodic) And we’re dancing on the edge of the gig Digging a hole that’s already too big Yeah, the future’s a promise on a rolling contract Sign on the line, try to keep it intact Oh, the modern world is a temporary lease And we’re piece-working, piece-working Just to find a little peace. (Bridge) (Tempo slows slightly. A melancholy, ambient guitar swell fills the space. Vocals are intimate, close to the mic) They call it flexibility, they call it being free But I'm tethered to a Wi-Fi signal out at sea Is anybody else awake at 3 AM? Staring at the spreadsheet, starting it again? (Suddenly loud: a sudden, jagged guitar solo bursts in for four bars, mimicking anxiety, then cuts abruptly) (Outro) (Just the dry snare drum and a single bass note ticking like a clock) Submitting the invoice. Waiting on the net-thirty. Submitting the invoice. Hands a little dirty. (Vocals trail off into a whisper) Log out. Shut down. Next week’s a brand new town. (Single, unresolved guitar feedback note rings out and fades)

0/500