The curtain rises

[The Curtain Rises] [Lounge piano glissando, organ trill, fanfare from a busted trumpet] Step right up, misfits and mannequins, To the cavalcade of canceled has-beens and saintly sins! Where your moral compass spins like a rigged roulette — And the prize? A spotlight, cold and wet. I’m your host, your ghost, your backstage fraud, With a mic full of venom and a grin from God. This ain’t a sermon, babe — it’s a circus of grace, Where the clowns cry privilege and pie their own face. Wanna hear from the people who’ve never been broke, ‘Bout what poor folks feel? Oh, what a joke. Preach from yachts with their ethics in tow — "Don’t judge me!" (Unless it’s for show.) We got saints with stylists, sinners with brands, Fake tears dripping from manicured hands. A priest on payroll, a cop on the take, And a CEO crying for the planet’s sake. Don’t forget the watchdogs foamin’ at the lip, Shouting "THIS OFFENDS" with a vice-like grip. Never been bruised, but they fight for the pained — As long as their latte foam stays unstrained. Oh, and me? I’m the jester, sure — but not the fool, I just learned young that truth ain’t cool. So I wrapped it in glitter and spit in a rhyme, ‘Cause sincerity dies if it’s not on time. Now the lights dim low, and the silk pulls back — Let the outrage froth, let the curtain crack. Welcome to the show you paid to loathe — Where I eat applause like it's sacred oaths. So clutch your pearls and file your claims — You bought a ticket, now learn my name. This isn’t art — it’s spite and flair. And you’re all complicit, so don’t just stare. [Organ hits. Lights swell. The drums begin.] Let’s start the act. Hope you dressed for despair.