This is performance art of the worst kind,
And the artists are performing against their will,
Trapped in glass boxes, pounding on the walls,
Screaming at ghosts

They mime at passersby for help,
Anything to relieve the pain,
The interminable burden,
Strangers sadly shrug and walk on

And so these ****** souls
Toil away at their craft,
Scribbling nonsense on bits of scrap,
Trying to fill the void