Souls on sale

The theatre is full, the show must go on.
The gallery's teeming with an ostentatious moron
And more of his clan, who've sold their souls.
They're so spineless that they cling on to poles.
Poles of applause for all that they do,
Be it their soiled money or another prestigious ado

They're all waiting for an actor to grace the stage
Don't they know that it's they who're on stage?
They play to the gallery full of their own kind,
They've learnt to play all, except their own mind.

'Sold out' reads the sign, the collection's good
Swollen with nods of approval, fake brotherhood.
Tis enough to boost their egos, stroke their souls.
Souls that are no more theirs but sold out to black holes
That suck them into wanting more nods and more poles

They've littered the stage, the true actor shant come,
For he ne'er plays to the gallery, needs no nod or sum.
The show shall never go on and they've forgotten they're waiting too,
They've witnessed each other's show alright, who cares to know what's true