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 your 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 your hotel bill, dear
But Jack won't love his Jill,
Whilst he's tending his sheep,
If he's got too much, time to kill
Underdeveloped it won't grow an atom-
More! …Bigger!
Then another, other unheard-of singer
Says the singer - before you