Modern Muse.

When the poet and the artist full of fright From directors of galleries from dealers of might From TV pundits merchants of media & such blight Settling splendidly on their thrones in dizzying heights. The artist prayed to his muse to descend from her paradise And save his soul from dark hells, let there be light. When the bard as ever hungry for public acclaim Bowed to his muse for crumbs of some nether gain With dishevelled hair and reeking of potent drink With rouge on her lips and great fire in her limbs A smile on her crooked face and a stagger in her pace The muse now descends majestically with her celestial grace.