The Pretenders

What's disheartening 

Is an illusion of promise,

A opened eye thought

Is the ghost of a blind conscience.

Accountability is a lack of action

People put more effort in emotions

Than the task that they're tasked with.

People spend hours of time

Writing and drawing,

To say you're a true artist Is fully lethargic. 

So, here's to them,

To those: The Pretenders

Ones who never market themselves

And just show their shit like it's a winner. 

Can you see the shallow small talk

And the quick conversations?

Can you read their face?

They're a board game we've all played, man.

To stand there and act like 

Conversing is fun

Their head really reads:

"Buy my shit, son!"

Their hustle, their bustle..

It's all pseudo agenda,

The same walk and talk

From actors on the weekend.

So here's some proof 

For what true fucking art is:

"If you've never bled in your work

Here's a wound you can staunch then."