A song about losing the work—and finding what’s left.
We’re all sinking in private. The door doesn’t open anymore. No one tells you why. The emails slow. Meeting invites dry up. Your badge still works, but every room feels like it’s no longer yours. You’re on a list somewhere—bench, redundant, transitioning— words that mean gone, but no one says it out loud.
🎧 Listen while you read
This is what it feels like to be laid off without being fired. I couldn’t explain it in prose, so I wrote a song instead.
🎶 What Am I For (lyrics)
Verse 1
Sent another into the silence Watched the job posting disappear They don’t fire you anymore— They just stop unlocking the door Ladder was there yesterday Now there’s just a wall Stock price keeps climbing But no one calls
Chorus
If they don’t need my thinking If they don’t need my hands If they don’t need my judgment What am I for? What am I for?
Verse 2
No breadline in the street No camera catching the cost Just a quiet room and a closing door No one counts the lost Neighbors look fine I pass for fine too We’re all sinking in private The way they want us to
Chorus
If they don’t need my thinking If they don’t need my hands If they don’t need my heart now What am I for? What am I for?
Bridge
But I see you in the wreckage Looking for a way through No one’s coming for us— No one’s coming through If nobody needs us Then we need each other You’re what I’m for
Final Chorus
They don’t need my thinking They don’t need my hands I know what I’m for I know what I’m for
🪞 The Silence
People feel their jobs slipping and they go quiet. Stop returning calls. Skip the barbecue. Ashamed—though they did nothing wrong.
“They avoid social events, dodge questions, slowly pull away. The silence gets heavier.”
Sinking in private.
I know a man—smart, credentialed, fifteen years in his field. Last year, he applied to forty-seven jobs. Got one interview. He says he’s “between projects.” His LinkedIn says consultant. His kids think he’s just working from home.
He’s not alone. Forty percent of white-collar job seekers last year didn’t get a single interview. Not one.
🧱 The Wall
The deal was simple: Work hard, get better. Climb the ladder. Trade time for money—and dignity.
That deal is breaking. The ones breaking it call it progress.
“I watched my neighbor pack his office into a single box last spring. Twenty-two years at the same company. He thought he’d retire there. Now he drives for a delivery app three days a week and tells people he’s ‘staying active.’ His degree hangs in a room no one enters.”
The ladder was there yesterday. Now there’s a wall.
Work isn’t just about paying bills. It’s how we know ourselves. The answer at parties. The story we tell. I’m a writer. I’m an engineer. I do this thing, and it matters.
What happens when that thing doesn’t need doing?
“It’s not just a job—they’ve taken my confidence.” Not money. Meaning.
âť“ The Question
I sat with this for a long time. If usefulness was the measure—and usefulness is vanishing—what’s left? What are any of us for?
The song kept asking that question. I didn’t have an answer. Just the asking.
Then the bridge came:
“If nobody needs us, then we need each other.”
That’s not a policy. It’s not a fix. It’s smaller than that. And bigger.
The ladder wasn’t the point. We built our worth on something fragile. Now we can build something else.
I don’t know exactly what that looks like. I’m still figuring it out. But I know the shame isn’t helping. Sinking alone saves no one.
❤️ What I Know
If you’re in the quiet room right now—watching the ladder turn to wall— I see you.
I don’t have a fix. But I see you.
That’s something. That’s the start of something.
We’re all sinking in private. But we don’t have to.
You’re what I’m for.
đź—Ł Share this if it landed.
Some of us need to know we’re not alone in the quiet room. Leave a comment—if this resonated, or if you’re there too.
📬 Want more?
Songs, stories, trying to make sense of a world that keeps changing the rules.
Gene Scott was raised on an Illinois tenant farm and now writes novels and songs rooted in faith, memory, and the American margins. He lives in Johnson City, Tennessee.
Gene Scott
Gene Scott grew up on an Illinois tenant farm where kitchen-table tales mixed magic with hog farms and strip mines. After 40 years in East Tennessee, he’s witnessed nature’s raw power—and its quiet grace to heal what’s broken.
What Am I For?
🎵 What Am I For?
A song about losing the work—and finding what’s left.
🎧 Listen while you read
This is what it feels like to be laid off without being fired.
I couldn’t explain it in prose, so I wrote a song instead.
🎶 What Am I For (lyrics)
Verse 1
Sent another into the silence
Watched the job posting disappear
They don’t fire you anymore—
They just stop unlocking the door
Ladder was there yesterday
Now there’s just a wall
Stock price keeps climbing
But no one calls
Chorus
If they don’t need my thinking
If they don’t need my hands
If they don’t need my judgment
What am I for?
What am I for?
Verse 2
No breadline in the street
No camera catching the cost
Just a quiet room and a closing door
No one counts the lost
Neighbors look fine
I pass for fine too
We’re all sinking in private
The way they want us to
Chorus
If they don’t need my thinking
If they don’t need my hands
If they don’t need my heart now
What am I for?
What am I for?
Bridge
But I see you in the wreckage
Looking for a way through
No one’s coming for us—
No one’s coming through
If nobody needs us
Then we need each other
You’re what I’m for
Final Chorus
They don’t need my thinking
They don’t need my hands
I know what I’m for
I know what I’m for
🪞 The Silence
People feel their jobs slipping and they go quiet.
Stop returning calls. Skip the barbecue.
Ashamed—though they did nothing wrong.
Sinking in private.
I know a man—smart, credentialed, fifteen years in his field.
Last year, he applied to forty-seven jobs. Got one interview.
He says he’s “between projects.”
His LinkedIn says consultant.
His kids think he’s just working from home.
He’s not alone.
Forty percent of white-collar job seekers last year didn’t get a single interview.
Not one.
🧱 The Wall
The deal was simple:
Work hard, get better. Climb the ladder.
Trade time for money—and dignity.
That deal is breaking.
The ones breaking it call it progress.
The ladder was there yesterday.
Now there’s a wall.
Work isn’t just about paying bills.
It’s how we know ourselves.
The answer at parties. The story we tell.
I’m a writer. I’m an engineer.
I do this thing, and it matters.
What happens when that thing doesn’t need doing?
âť“ The Question
I sat with this for a long time.
If usefulness was the measure—and usefulness is vanishing—what’s left?
What are any of us for?
The song kept asking that question.
I didn’t have an answer. Just the asking.
Then the bridge came:
That’s not a policy. It’s not a fix.
It’s smaller than that.
And bigger.
The ladder wasn’t the point.
We built our worth on something fragile.
Now we can build something else.
I don’t know exactly what that looks like.
I’m still figuring it out.
But I know the shame isn’t helping.
Sinking alone saves no one.
❤️ What I Know
If you’re in the quiet room right now—watching the ladder turn to wall—
I see you.
I don’t have a fix.
But I see you.
That’s something.
That’s the start of something.
We’re all sinking in private.
But we don’t have to.
You’re what I’m for.
đź—Ł Share this if it landed.
Some of us need to know we’re not alone in the quiet room.
Leave a comment—if this resonated, or if you’re there too.
📬 Want more?
Songs, stories, trying to make sense of a world that keeps changing the rules.
Gene Scott was raised on an Illinois tenant farm and now writes novels and songs rooted in faith, memory, and the American margins. He lives in Johnson City, Tennessee.
Gene Scott