Fame

Go ahead and praise me.

I promise I don’t mind.

These would be pop lyrics

If I weren’t so refined.

They say a no-talent can play

Bass adequately well,

Approximate the chords and fake

That teen spirit smell.

All I need’s a camera.

I’ll gel my hair in spikes,

Break out with a Youtube hit

And get a zillion likes.

Dire Straits wanted MTV,

And Warhol 15 minutes,

Icarus flew too near the sun.

Does that mean there are limits?

Still I’d risk the frightful plunge,

Shell out my last few dimes

For Facebook love and Googles of

My insubstantial rhymes.

But how ironic it would be

If these poor verses are

Not Twitter faved and Pint’rest craved

But TLDNR.

Go ahead and praise me.

I promise I don’t mind.

These would be pop lyrics

If I weren’t so refined.