"I me myself" and nothing beyond,
Singing your own melody,
Strumming your own song,
Stringing tunes of self adulation,
A medley of your glorification,
Where you for you belong.
You blow your own trumpet
Loud and clear,
Assuming other than that,
Nothing, no one will hear..
Drowning other songs
That surround you,
To you, no music, but yours is true.
The vocalist, the drummer, the guitarist, rolled in one
The only one man orchestra and after you're done,
With expectant authority, you wait for applause,
Unwilling to accept or admit any flaws.
What you compose, you call symphony,
What I hear, I call cacophony.
Listen to your music with my ears,
You'll be surprised at what you hear.
Its such a pity that you are so off-key,
A pity that you can't hear or see.