(For the world of entertainment
you'd sell every vestige of self;
morals, spirit and ideals.)
A sick anotus, disgust.
(You'd even sell those big promises.
You'd even sell your mother)
but I'd be blasted off with blather
'til poison comes from mouth, teeth and hands.
Environment safe and clear,
fending for your end only,
I'd practise gawky ways.
I'd spit (on you.)
I'd spit (on everything you trade.)