Whose sob story will rob glory, whose is the most gory
Who is so unkempt their rendition is bound to draw me
Like Tony Hart, except their art probably will morph me
Inform me then implore me because the vote nymph is horny
But the trash acts they bore me to the point channel hopping seems a daunting challenge
See we’re living through the evolution of the pageant
Where fame is 30 seconds scavenging, rich judges be ravaging, mental health damaging
And rehab seems like home, for the have not’s to manage in. Those who made it stave off panicking
Penniless having had the win, the real money was never seen – the cameras and the madness seemed like a sin
365 days later and dust settles, discarded like rusty metal unless the masses still buy your mettle
No more floors of rose petals have you still got your head?
What people tweet about, speak about, update FB about is more than what they be about.
We got knee jerk media hounds, Facebook groups that tear you down, jealousy queries and sneers with classic veneers, why their reality wasn’t all Hollywood smiles and fake tears
Is that where we’re geared?
We want it right now and we got it right here, talent battery produced not hand reared
Real talents lose their zeal and the feel for what they called real
Remember when virtual reality was just for computer games
Now we got virtual insanity by conveyor belts of fame
Everyone knows the rules and they still they complain
So when everybody plays the fool do you hate the player or the game?
Heaven the pie in they sky for which I aim
My reality is abides under the divine camera fame
But I’m a sucker for life and there’s no edits till I fade.