Just don’t forget me,
I’ll do anything,
cover myself in jelly,
If it’ll keep me on your telly.
I won’t talk about babies in bunkers,
or limbless hospital fillers,
the starving stealing,
or refugees grieving.
I’ll talk about ME:
how I want to be
on your TV
I can take care of justice
and peace and love and all that stuff
we don’t do anymore
once I’m famous.
I’m tugging at your crumbs of loving
by accepting the challenge
of sleeping with ants,
I don’t even care if I have to host a game-show
with my one-inch embarrassment
in the studio.
Just let me do as you please:
Jump through hoops, dish the dirt, spill the beans,
kiss the rodents, eat breast milk cheese,
roll in mud, get dragged by a horse,
and yes Meatloaf, even *that*, of course!
Just as long as I can relieve this desperation
this Olympic flame, this craving need,
so easily lit which I now must feed
so please won’t you heed
and switch on your TV to watch me bleed?
Fuck the hungry
and those that despair,
I too can be that needy, I promise.
This is my very last go
Please, please, put me on your unfairground show.
Round and round the ratings spin
and you know
they are nothing
without me in
in my spandex sin,
spouting autocue words,
on a blue screen verandah,
to keep the world
so much blander.
My blinkered fairground detractions,
could help numb those actions,
you would be compelled to otherwise make,
to steer the world to a better place.
So help me to help me to help
your life pass much quicker!
Let’s keep the phone lines open
and our eyes shut super-tight.
Vote, vote, VOTE for me tonight.
All night, every night.
Just never say “Goodnight”