Audience

The painter he died alone
Decades later they built his throne
Proclaiming his great worth
While he was buried under all that earth
Would have been nice to hear
While he was upright and breathing air
I heard someone joke
We’ve gone as far as we can go
No longer a difference ‘tween
Those who watch and those being seen
Fear i was born too late
No one left to hear what i say
There’s no one left in the audience.
Everybody wants to be in the show.
So what am i doing here?
I don’t know.
There’s a soiree out back
Full of art school undergrads
They make great party hats
But not a one understands math
Each does a one-man play
Streaming live in 50 states
The critics now work from home
No longer paid to sing along
I miss their companionship
A steady voice amongst the frantic
Just wanted art that’s true
Just want to talk about the blues
There’s no one left in the audience.
Everybody wants to be in the show.
So what am i doing here?
I don’t know.
Had a picture in my mind
But it’s gotten harder over time
To hold on to that dream
Can’t deny what i see
And there’s no sadder sight
Than the man who can’t call it a night