A tailor-made suit, makes the lie,
filling the world, with empty pride,
replacing substance, for the shell,
there’s no more luck, in wishing well,
a brash badge wearer, is so smug,
as they get to choose who’s in the club,
for they can’t pay unaesthetically,
whilst their pack huddles pathetically,
those famous stars, aren’t your friends,
they only care, if their film opens,
it’s their job to fake, and to read from script,
why not think of loved ones, in crypt,
do not be a moth, to media flame,
you’ll only have yourself to blame,
as opinions are made, and can’t be bought,
not by a school, not by a court,
your life was made, by sire and dam,
with such complaint, what was their plan?
Unready couples, conceive all plights,
whilst the singles, can’t see the heights,
you then pass me by, to see my face,
spewing gutter words, of all disgrace,
a Damien Hirst like installation,
your dose of raw information.