Today’s poet is What’s-his-name, or Whomever-they-are, the one (or ones) that write the craptasmatic lyrics which that god-awful band Hinder then tries to put to music, without much success (unless you define “success” as cringe-inducing cheese-ballads of emotional diarrhea that make P. Diddy seem like the Percy Bysshe Shelley of the last twenty years).
From the song “Better Than Me, comes this bit of powerfully poetic poignancy:
While looking through your old box of notes
I found those pictures I took
That you were looking for
If there’s one memory I don’t want to lose
That time at the mall
You and me in the dressing room
Ah, and some say that the Romantic movement is dead!
Why, what could possibly better encapsulate the notions of emotional and powerful aesthetics than “That time at the mall / You and me in the dressing room?” His angst… his longing… or, well, the surety that none of this ever happened and he just writes cheesy crap in order to bang as many tasteless groupies as possible before his fifteen minutes are up (which, let’s be honest, is about 15 minutes and one second more than this group of pop-rock-pablum peddlers deserved in the first place).
Seriously, do some of you people actually enjoy listening to this crap? I simply must know.