Music 'artists' are just creations
Talentless fools, inane aspirations
One direction are the kings of pop
Like bubbles, they float to the top
They make millions for less than nothing
Though they've no spirit, no talent to bring
They're buoyed up, to fly on high
Above the few, true, ones who scrape by
They're forced to sleep in frigid cars,
To perform for drunks in crowded bars
While we worship tools with ashen hearts
And judge talent by what's on the charts
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is brillant and why do I say that because its so true....smiles cant wait to read more