A dusty front camera, so bored – it’s sick,
It has no use, no purpose – for my eyes can click.
I scroll through my mind’s eye and admire every picture,
You probably miss the best of me when you’re not here.
The Master pets me for he knows I’ve been a good boy,
I stare up at Him expectantly as he dangles a new toy.
He asks me to chase and play but I don’t even go near,
I can live without temptation when you’re not here.
I walk down the red carpet and revise the speech in my head,
My decisions warrant an award; with praise I should be fed.
I won’t survive long if this audience fills me with regret and fear,
Alone in this burning spotlight I stand – when you’re not here.