Mark Heathcote

Silver Star - 3,774 Points (22/03/66 / Manchester)

Says The Singer - Before You… - Poem by Mark Heathcote

Your voice is underdeveloped
It won’t grow an octave-
More! …Bigger!
But what use is this famed, futility,
Matched to order…
“Oh you feed the greedy, crowd …
Oh you can never feed”.
So they buy into you!
But what do, you pay, whilst you sing!
“When, you’re never at home to stay”…

Fame might pay you’re hotel bill,
But Bill won’t love you still,
“If he’s got too much, time to fill …
It won’t grow an atom-
Bigger! You’ll never make
The Grand Ole Opry” honey
But then you might grow harder.
So you’ll find yourself a guitar man, a drunk!
And they’ll call you a “saint” for putting up,
But what good-use is fame if you’re alone.

…Traveling, all the time…
With a drunk on his knees,
“Love is a union, not an onion
Burning in your pickled red sleepy eyes”
Oh you feed the greedy, crowd …
You can never feed.
So they buy into you!
But what do you pay, whilst you sing!
“When, you’re never at home to stay”…
Fame might pay you’re hotel bill, dear …
But Jack won’t love his Jill,
Whist he’s tending his sheep,
If he’s got too much, time to kill …
Underdeveloped it won’t grow an atom-
More! …Bigger!
Than another other unheard off singer
Says the singer - before you…


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Poem Submitted: Friday, July 12, 2013

Poem Edited: Saturday, July 13, 2013


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