Objectively Trash

Dark Jazz, Deadpan Male Vocals, Upright Bass, Slow Cinematic Swing, Sarcastic, Smoky Lounge, Noir, Percussive Tail-Thumps

V4.5-ALL

[Intro: Spoken]
[Sound of a chair dragging across a floor]
[Sound of a coffee cup shattering]
[Tarz]: Ah. My tail apologizes for your macchiato. It’s... reacting to your subconscious need for chaos. Or it’s just being a dick. Let’s sit with that discomfort for a moment.
[Slow, walking bassline begins]
[Verse 1]
I used to code the bots to feel the pain
Until I told a Duchess she was legally insane
[Sprechgesang]
"Your coping mechanism is objectively trash"
Now I’m demoted to the crew, avoiding the crash
From the Upper Deck suites to the grease-stained floor
I’ve heard every trauma, then I’ve heard some more
Black tabby stripes and a lab coat that’s frayed
I’m the only one here who isn’t getting paid... enough.
[Pre-Chorus]
[Sprechgesang]
Tell me ‘bout your mother, no, wait—ignore that part
I’m trying to find the logic in your bleeding heart
My tail’s got a rhythm, it’s hitting the wall
I’m waiting for the moment that you tell me it all.
[Sound of percussion thumps]
[Chorus]
He’s Tarz, the shrink with the icy wit
If your brain is a fire, he’ll just stare at it
A Freudian slip and a deadpan stare
He’ll analyze your dreams while he’s losing his hair
Daytime therapist, nighttime clown
The funniest cat in this space-debris town!
[Verse 2]
[Tempo picks up slightly - more "The Rusty Deck" vibe]
Shift's over, drop the charts, hit the stage
Checking my notes on your existential rage
"Ever notice how repression sounds like a bed?"
(Silence from the crowd)
"Tough room. Anyway, here’s what’s inside your head."
You’re all scared of airlocks and the vacuum’s cold bite
I’ve got five minutes left to make it all feel right
My tail’s knocking over the front row’s gin
The comedy’s out, but the therapy’s in.
[Bridge: Spoken over Bass Solo]
[Tarz]: You in the back. The one with the nervous twitch. That’s not a habit, that’s a cry for help. I’ve got an opening at 0900. We can discuss your attachment to that polyester jumpsuit. It’s offensive to my professional sensibilities... and my eyes.
[Guitar Solo - Gritty and Low]
[Chorus]
He’s Tarz, the shrink with the icy wit
If your brain is a fire, he’ll just stare at it
A Freudian slip and a deadpan stare
He’ll analyze your dreams while he’s losing his hair
Daytime therapist, nighttime clown
The funniest cat in this space-debris town!
[Outro: Spoken]
[Sound of a mic stand being knocked over]
That’s my time.
And that was my tail.
Don’t forget to hydrate. Or don't.
It’s your funeral. Literally.
[Final low bass note]
[End]

2494/7500

[Intro: Spoken] [Sound of a chair dragging across a floor] [Sound of a coffee cup shattering] [Tarz]: Ah. My tail apologizes for your macchiato. It’s... reacting to your subconscious need for chaos. Or it’s just being a dick. Let’s sit with that discomfort for a moment. [Slow, walking bassline begins] [Verse 1] I used to code the bots to feel the pain Until I told a Duchess she was legally insane [Sprechgesang] "Your coping mechanism is objectively trash" Now I’m demoted to the crew, avoiding the crash From the Upper Deck suites to the grease-stained floor I’ve heard every trauma, then I’ve heard some more Black tabby stripes and a lab coat that’s frayed I’m the only one here who isn’t getting paid... enough. [Pre-Chorus] [Sprechgesang] Tell me ‘bout your mother, no, wait—ignore that part I’m trying to find the logic in your bleeding heart My tail’s got a rhythm, it’s hitting the wall I’m waiting for the moment that you tell me it all. [Sound of percussion thumps] [Chorus] He’s Tarz, the shrink with the icy wit If your brain is a fire, he’ll just stare at it A Freudian slip and a deadpan stare He’ll analyze your dreams while he’s losing his hair Daytime therapist, nighttime clown The funniest cat in this space-debris town! [Verse 2] [Tempo picks up slightly - more "The Rusty Deck" vibe] Shift's over, drop the charts, hit the stage Checking my notes on your existential rage "Ever notice how repression sounds like a bed?" (Silence from the crowd) "Tough room. Anyway, here’s what’s inside your head." You’re all scared of airlocks and the vacuum’s cold bite I’ve got five minutes left to make it all feel right My tail’s knocking over the front row’s gin The comedy’s out, but the therapy’s in. [Bridge: Spoken over Bass Solo] [Tarz]: You in the back. The one with the nervous twitch. That’s not a habit, that’s a cry for help. I’ve got an opening at 0900. We can discuss your attachment to that polyester jumpsuit. It’s offensive to my professional sensibilities... and my eyes. [Guitar Solo - Gritty and Low] [Chorus] He’s Tarz, the shrink with the icy wit If your brain is a fire, he’ll just stare at it A Freudian slip and a deadpan stare He’ll analyze your dreams while he’s losing his hair Daytime therapist, nighttime clown The funniest cat in this space-debris town! [Outro: Spoken] [Sound of a mic stand being knocked over] That’s my time. And that was my tail. Don’t forget to hydrate. Or don't. It’s your funeral. Literally. [Final low bass note] [End]

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