There was a time when actors shined,

When their voices were aloft,

And their singing, inviting.

There was a time when the audience wasn’t deaf (or blind),

And the screen had songs

And the way the songs sung, exciting.

There was a time,

Then it all went wrong.

I’ve seen the scene that Anne won by,

Where she tried

But life was missing.

I screamed that Crowe would just die;

I dreamed that Hugh could be forgiven.

Then I was bummed, for twenty I paid;

My dough and time they stole and I wasted.

There’s no refund I’m afraid,

For songs ill-sung by names profitably pasted.

“But the actors sing it live!”
The media voices yelled with thunder,
As publicists play their part,
As they turn their screams to shame.

DVD’s coming this summer for fans to buy,

To fill their days with anxious wonder:

“Is this really better than live?”

But his cash was gone when autumn came.

And still I dream plays on screen are good to see,

That stage and film can mesh together.

But there are dreams that cannot be,

Good actors don’t mean the singing’s better.

And singing is a musical’s reason to be,
So different from that hell that I was watching.
No different now from what it seemed,
This flick has killed me with the scenes I’d seen.