Banality reins supreme

In our children’s dreams.

What do you expect

When principles defect

And brand names

Mark the scene,

When rock stars sell their souls

To executives in suits,

Make perfumes

From their dance room sweat

And wear expensive boots,

Then slap their name

On random ****

And sell how nice and cute

Their clothes look on baby girls

They know we can’t refute.

As if they write their music,

Or pen their awful hits,

******* souls for millions;

Tear integrity to bits.

When art is lost for money,

And the formula is the norm,

When thousands gyrate madly

To aural chloroform,

When children posture wildly

In photos with no shame

And send them to their idols

Who don’t care to carry blame,

When all we know is taken,

Corrupted and perverse,

And all our keen philanthropy

Is squeezed into a hearse,

When there’s nothing left

But adverts on our doors,

And mindless dancing robots

Falling to the floor,

Then we might just notice

How much we had to lose

When we turned our children loose

To tie up their own noose.

No matter how steep the cost,

There’s always room to climb

As soul-less music moguls

Wrangle for a dime.