Lights, Lawsuits, and Lunacy
There he is, another fat cat in a fine suit,
a man with too much money
and not enough sense.
They always start the same way:
hungry, scrappy, with a spark in their eyes,
climbing over corpses just to taste
the champagne fizz of fame.
But the climb turns sour—
it always does.
The money grows heavier,
the women get younger,
and the lies stack taller
than their penthouses.
And now he’s cornered.
Accusations like alley rats
gnawing at his gold-plated ego,
lawsuits snapping like
cheap whiskey shots at last call.
He denies, of course—
they always deny.
Truth is just another currency
they barter for silence.
The tabloids call it shocking.
The fans call it betrayal.
I call it Tuesday.
Another kingpin,
another scandal,
another reminder
that the glint of the spotlight
hides more shadows than light.
But don’t worry,
he’ll be back.
They all come back.
The world loves a man who sins,
as long as he sins with style.
And us?
We’ll keep buying the albums,
dancing to the beats,
clapping for the encore
while the bodies pile up backstage.
Because we’re all drunk on something—
power, fame, or just cheap beer.
And none of us want to wake up
to the hangover of reality.
There’s a mirror there and we certainly don’t like the way it lights our own lunacy.
