An HTTP on which we release poetry, supposed to capture our deep, inner 'me'. And you can sense this fret with which it is met; the desperate actions of some for adulation to get.
It kinda is sad, when you all try to grab; hustle and bustle with meaningless blab. Nothing it means, I don't see why you're so keen- No matter your words, you will never be king.
He's richer than you, much higher up too; from his birth he had you beat, ever since you were new- There's levels to this game, you must have the fame; lest every word you write from your soul become lame.
No joke you shout loud, with fervour and proud, but unless you are lucky, to this life you are bound; To the medial mess, and all its distress, you'll never look good, no matter your dress.