A Fan's Lament (poem)

I'm writing this song in the afternoon,
after listening to Amy sing Back to Black,
and after a few moments of contemplation,
I am off to listen to Lindsay sing,
just to drive away the cold and darkness.
There's no question in my mind,
Amy sings great; that's a given.
But Linds has the ability
to give more than she gets,
plus she's been through rehab many times.
Hopefully, that Winehouse chick wakes up
to discover that she slowly dying inside.
I can't help but wonder what drives the famous
to let their lives self-implode from within.

Who cares about the drugs? The glamour?
When all around you the homeless are starving,
got no place to stay, and slowly going insane.
You who are successful sometimes have a lot to learn;
nobody is your lesser, and it's respect you gotta earn.
If the world ended tomorrow, nobody cares.
But we, your fans, care a lot about you.

I'm still here writing, and have to get off my chest
this nagging question to ask her, if I could:
"Britney, why did you take those drugs?"
"Paris, why do you think you can sing?"
At least, Nicole Richie is fine for now.
And we all dread the day when Amy Winehouse is back on tour.
The world won't end tomorrow, but I'm not certain now.
What's up with Courtney Love? If we gave her more respect,
would she give up the jet set life and take care of Bean?
I don't know why I'm nattering, I don't know at all.
When all my favorite singing stars are tragic comedies,
all I can do is sit listening to the TV
give me five minutes here and there about them.

I don't care about the drug and glamour.
I don't dare to do more than just dance to their tunes.
I wish that these celebrities will grow some sense.
They who are successful sometimes have a lot to learn;
nobody is their lesser, and it's respect they have to earn.
If the world ended tomorrow, nobody cares.
But we, your fans, care a lot about you.
For we, your fans, care a lot about you.