To the future musicians, actors, dancers,
To the people who think they can sing for answers,
I'm sorry to say, that's not how it works,
But I do wish you luck as clothes shop clerks.
To the ones who dream of Broadway hits,
To the people who are after all the Ritz,
It's all luck, there you go,
I'll see you down the promenade for the puppet show.
To the people who prance around,
Who twirl and bop to a sound,
There is not many of you out there,
You are still saturated, beware.
Although I have insulted you,
And said your dreams aren't coming true,
It's you I envy so much,
As I have no talent to clutch,
I sing and dance on my own,
In my room, In my home,
I can't carry a tune,
I sound like loon,
And I dance like a confused raccoon.
I hope you get somewhere in the end,
This poem is not meant to offend.
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