The woman sits at home, a week off she has
Decides to write that book if she so can
But glued she is to the box in the corner
Jeremy Vile and trash TV, this brain-dead horror
Reality TV, the conveyor belt of hell
Controlled by the devil, with souls to buy and sell
So called singers looking for quick fame
Ridicule themselves in this nasty game
She watches with loathing at other fools
Who are controlled by strings, to a nations heckles
From jungles, creepy crawlies house arrest
The brother that’s big watches you in bed
Desperate for attention these people are
Strayed from the path of humanity far
Lost perspective on what is real
This trash culture needs to be brought to heel
The woman feels sick watching the weak
Turns over to something with knowledge to seek
A wildlife programme catches her eye
This is reality and it makes her cry
So does a documentary about a boy
Who’s lost an arm by mankind’s toys
Against all odds, he survived the bomb
His family dead, a future thought gone
But help he received to her joyous heart
Her spirits lifted as he gets a new start
His smiley face for this boy of eight
Inspirational he is and full of grace
She wishes only the best for him in Afghanistan
Not for the weak so-called reality clan
Those that haven’t a clue about life
Those who hunger for fame on tv every night
Caliburnus Rises 