Well, you’re the life of the party. And you really go to town.
The cynosure of sparkling wit. You do bring the house down.
With your simulated smile upon your ersatz friendly face
You are burning with adrenaline to take your rightful place.
You make no time for reflection. All your happiness lacks joy.
And you hate being alone – and every distraction employ
To avoid yourself for company. You need the crowd’s encore.
For you live for others idolising you. What is Life for?
For just underneath your tinsel masque your heart is but a stone:
As your inner life is dead. While you love to be ‘well-known’
It’s a sham. Because to know you, they would have to look inside –
Your very heart and mind. And those who praise you, never tried.
So you circulate. And party. Meet with others. Watch TV.
While your heart and soul deteriorate. In such extremity
You indulge in merry-making. Though it fails to satisfy.
And I do suppose you be the party’s life until you die.
Did it really make you happy? Or was it futility?