Performers, get fed
Return to the fountain of your youth
Lest you continually drink from an empty well
and sing and speak with a mouth so dry
it spurts out dust and fly
instead of living waters.
Sit in the stands, in the pews
Be one with the audience, the congregation
Remember what drew you to the altar, the stage
in the first place.
We must be born again daily
or die slowly,
turning not into an aging beauty
but a skipping vinyl
playing the same song again and again
til people cup their hands over their ears
and either throw you out the window
or simply walk away.