Shon White

D.O.A.(death of an artist)

I'm just dust with a pen; graciously given a talent for word play and redemption from sin...

On that stage the world is yours
To do with it what you will
Feed them from the hand that slapped the other cheek
After you tricked them the first time and we all chose
To play blind...
To the fact that you are not what you appear
If the adorations halts and the overhead lights falter
The talent behind the curtain is revealed
As the facade no longer adheres

And there you are

Never the heart- the courage- the brains;
Now the vampires taste their meal
Leave you bone dry to the jeers and the sighs
To face disinterested eyes as you make your first
And last honest stand
Only to be spoken of less and less and less...and...

Shipped out even further west than you planned to be buried faceless
With all the rest that came before you so far
And made the mistake of trying to convince the world
That the Messiah plays a mean guitar