\[Intro Ambient office keyboard clicks then a slow industrial thrum kicks in.\]
(haunting breath, Vocal is breathy, intimate, barely above a murmur)
“They call me ‘HR’… but really? I’m the gatekeeper of desire…
Your evaluation form? That’s your confession booth.
You come in for a ‘disciplinary review’…
You leave with my name tattooed on your ass.”
\[Verse 1: Whispers over Detuned Guitars\]
(Low-tuned guitar chug, sparse drum machine, breathy, slow-fire cadence)
I wear my desk like a cage, chrome-plated and cold,
My perfume? Lemon cleaner and the scent of your shame untold.
Three new hires today—naive, trembling, shy…
I told them ‘Welcome to the team.’ Then said: ‘Kneel, and ask why.’
We did the training in the server room—no slides, just skin,
One hand on the keyboard, one on the joystick…
They thought it was a violation…
I filed the report: “Employee consent: verified.”
And left the camera rolling… just for my personal review…
They don’t get promoted… until they earn my thumbprint.
(A distorted CRACK, singe sudden male voice in background ad-lib): “Ma’am, sir—no sir—” → (cut off with a glitch.)
\[Chorus: Guitars rise into a wall of chugging harmony, orchestral stabs, 808s slap like a belt.\]
(Vocal shifts to melodic but razor-edged—layered, anthemic, unhinged)
I’m your HR whore in the glass-walled hell—
Performance review? Nah—I’m selling the spell.
They pay me in cock-suck breaks, in coffee-stained tears—
I sign their release forms… with my teeth and my fears.
I’m the policy they beg to violate, the rule they worship as sin—
The only one who gets promoted?… Me.
Yeah—I’m the performance review.
And overtime? Honey, that’s just the tip.
(Ad-libs): “Yes, ma’am!”, “More! Give me the form!”, “I consent—” (sfx: tape hiss and feedback)
\[Verse 2: Whisper-Groove + Cyber-Spoken Flow Bass-heavy groove, industrial hi-hats\]
(voice more rhythmic, almost like a data readout)
The breakroom fridge hums like a heartbeat…
I found a stash in the soda can—THC gummies, but labeled ‘Form 7B’.
I called the team in… said “Wellness check.”
Now two of them’re nodding off—
While I tie them to the copier with a USB cable.
We made a video. “Training Module 09: Consent.”
They’re watching themselves in real-time… on the HR intranet.
They try to leave? The badge scanner blinks red.
The system says: “Pending HR approval.”
And the approval? It’s me.…
In my red pen.
(sfx: velco ripping, phones ringing)
\[Chorus: Full orchestral swell: strings + distortion, double-time snare\]
(expanded vocal harmonies like a corrupted hymn)
I’m your HR whore in the glass-walled hell—
Performance review? Nah—I’m selling the spell.
They pay me in cock-suck breaks, in coffee-stained tears—
I sign their release forms… with my teeth and my fears.
I’m the policy they beg to violate, the rule they worship as sin—
The only one who gets promoted?… Me.
Yeah—I’m the performance review.
And overtime? Honey, that’s just the tip.
(Ad-libs): “Bitch. Yes.”, “I want the write-up.”, “Punish me.”
\[Verse 3: Bass drops out—only atmospheric drones and a ticking clock. \]
(Whisper-to-Scream Build Voice starts soft, intimate… then trembles… then breaks)
The last one… he was young. Too young.
Said he’d “never done anything like this.”
I told him: “Good.”
\*Because in my system, virginity’s still taxable.
We did it on the ergonomic chair—the one with the warranty…
He came before I even opened the file.
I made him film it.
On his phone.
Then I deleted the cloud.
Then I made him delete his memory.
beat
I am the firewall.
I am the virus.
I am the… “HR Correctional Protocol.”
(Voice cracks, then a sudden GUTTURAL SCREAM cuts the whisper—transitions straight into bridge.)
\[Bridge: only dying guitar feedback loop.\]
(Voice: raw, guttural, furious, emotional—like she’s sobbing while screaming)
I’m not broken!
I’m updated.
I’m not a slave—I’m admin.
I don’t ask for consent—I audit it.
Every time they walk in? It’s not a meeting.
It’s a sacrifice.
A tax on their shame.
A performance review… of their soul.
And if they resist?
I fire them.
With my thighs.
With my tongue.
With my thumbs-up.
\[Then: silence. Then a single, clean piano note.\]\[Final Chorus: Goth Metal\]
(Melodic but monstrous—clean vocals harmonized with distorted ones, strings soaring over industrial grind)
I’m your HR whore in the glass-walled hell—
Performance review? Nah—I’m selling the spell.
They pay me in cock-suck breaks, in coffee-stained tears—
I sign their release forms… with my teeth and my fears.
I’m the policy they beg to violate, the rule they worship as sin
The only one who gets promoted?… Me.
Yeah—I’m the performance review.
And overtime? Honey, that’s just the tip.
(Ad-libs layered): “I’m a policy”, “I am the violation”, “I am the audit.”, “I am HR.”
\[Outro: (Whisper)\]
(Music fades to silence. SFX: Ambient office sounds and whispers over keyboard typing)
“All right. That’s the last one.
Submit your forms by 5… or I’ll be in your office after hours.
And.. Dont forget We're on the clock!..
\[Bass
