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Possessor Of The Microphone

This song is by Carl Hauck.

I assure you, I'm as novel as the last act-

A walking piece of crap

Plagiarism's abstract

For a lack of original work,

I'll sell myself short

And collect the riches for it.

When I run low on fictional tales,

On forced awkward rhymes,

On those standout lines,

It's hard to resort to the unentertaining,

To the blunt, the boring,

The truth-containing...

As possessor of the microphone

I demand your full attention.

Complexities, they need not be

When I'm able to say things simply.

Both repulsiveness in each strings vibration

And my sad excuse for poetry

Abolish self-accreditation

Of an artist with pride. I wish I could see

People singing back to me,

But my only fans, my only listeners,

Are the pixels on my computer screen.

Regardless of how much the copper makes me bleed,

I'll remain an anguished instrument of mediocrity.

It's always been a dream

To just get up and leave

And to return as a stranger.

The mysterious is to the curious

As methamphetamines

Are to the user.

This is the product

Of nocturnal intoxication.

Should I reiterate the words sung out by a million other artists before

They kicked the chairs out from under their



There's only one

Definite attraction,

My primary


When time brings my final curtain,

There'll be no ears to listen in.

Resonance of repetition...

When will life begin?

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