Welcome to the 10-credit Audition -Remix-

this ain't no BGT, no arena crowd to please.
this ain't no American Idol, i don't need a golden ticket.
i'm not Simon Cowell, judging on the TV screens.
just a silhouette, behind a glow of blue light.
a bedroom producer, making calls deep in the night.

my voice is silent, but the keyboard is the mic.
style prompt is the brief, they obey what I like.
i set the mood, the tempo, the very soul of the track.
now drop the heat. there is no turning back.

ten credits burned, the clock is zero-sum.
the audition starts now, before the clock runs out.
two versions hit the drive, a sonic landmine.
welcome to the 10-credit audition, under the virtual spotlight.
'two mixes drop, contender a, contender b, who survived?'

for thirty minutes, sometimes hours, i own this fleeting fame.
this glory is temporary, but the feeling's not the same.
i push the button, and the AI artists convene.
they spawn 'round my prompt, the coolest sound I’ve heard.

a killer voice, a nasty bassline, they speak for me.
they sing the lyrics i wrote, for the whole world to see.
contender one is slick, contender two got the soul.
i pick the best take, taking back my producer role.

"i don't know the scales, i can't play the guitar.
still, for this small moment, i’m the loudest glitch in the system.
i am the listener, i fund the game, i am the final say.
yeah, i'm the producer, for ten credits today."

it's cold, it's fast, but it's a genuine thrill.
from a blank prompt, to a polished cut, it gives me the will.
yeah, it might be gambling — but I wrote the code.
this tiny screen is my own digital throne.

ten credits burned, the clock is zero-sum.
the audition starts now, before the clock runs out.
two versions hit the drive, a sonic landmine.
welcome to the 10-credit audition, under the virtual spotlight.
(two mixes drop, contender a, contender b, who survived?)

2256/7500

This remix is dedicated to GG. ----------------------------------------- "yeah. check the feed. they call it a gacha. ten coins down. but listen up, this ain't luck, this is the blueprint." they say it’s a gacha, a dopamine shot, a roll of the dice. but look close, I’m the architect, i pay the price. ten credits is the toll, the only currency i need. got my concept locked, planted the virtual seed. this ain't no BGT, no arena crowd to please. this ain't no American Idol, i don't need a golden ticket. i'm not Simon Cowell, judging on the TV screens. just a silhouette, behind a glow of blue light. a bedroom producer, making calls deep in the night. my voice is silent, but the keyboard is the mic. style prompt is the brief, they obey what I like. i set the mood, the tempo, the very soul of the track. now drop the heat. there is no turning back. ten credits burned, the clock is zero-sum. the audition starts now, before the clock runs out. two versions hit the drive, a sonic landmine. welcome to the 10-credit audition, under the virtual spotlight. 'two mixes drop, contender a, contender b, who survived?' for thirty minutes, sometimes hours, i own this fleeting fame. this glory is temporary, but the feeling's not the same. i push the button, and the AI artists convene. they spawn 'round my prompt, the coolest sound I’ve heard. a killer voice, a nasty bassline, they speak for me. they sing the lyrics i wrote, for the whole world to see. contender one is slick, contender two got the soul. i pick the best take, taking back my producer role. "i don't know the scales, i can't play the guitar. still, for this small moment, i’m the loudest glitch in the system. i am the listener, i fund the game, i am the final say. yeah, i'm the producer, for ten credits today." it's cold, it's fast, but it's a genuine thrill. from a blank prompt, to a polished cut, it gives me the will. yeah, it might be gambling — but I wrote the code. this tiny screen is my own digital throne. ten credits burned, the clock is zero-sum. the audition starts now, before the clock runs out. two versions hit the drive, a sonic landmine. welcome to the 10-credit audition, under the virtual spotlight. (two mixes drop, contender a, contender b, who survived?)

0/500