Fake moments lead to real feelings
But can we separate the two?
Why kid ourselves
when we've got careers to do.

Is it lust, love, or publicity?
Will we ever really know?
Do you even want the real me
or are we all putting on a show?

We go around denying nothing
and confirming even less.
Hiding those we love and who we are
is only damaging ourselves.

The person we portray
is merely a character we pose.
With paparazzi and a permanent audience
to whom we never say no.

How can we possibly turn it off,
this magnetism that shines
and makes them all crave more?
Keeping them vying for our time.

And it really is sad because
no time off is making us ill,
But that's the downside of branding ourselves,
we lose all our own free will.

The most we could ever give
could never stop their mores.
And all these preventive steps
won't keep the industry at the door.

We live off of people's obsessions
and try to cater to their whims,
but nothing is ever enough.
This industry is never a win.

Even fans can't keep us relevant.
Isn't that the fear,
That we'll go back to normalcy
or irrelevancy with tears?

We were the ones
that know one ever understood.
Idolization or ostracisation?
We use our weirdness for good

Or evil
Since we make everyone else feel empty.
We make them lust for an allusion,
so we hide our humanity.

We become perfection seeking cyborgs,
ever hunting to have it all.
Even in giant stadiums,
we continue to feel small.

We aren't any different.
We were once mortal too.
Or maybe we tell ourselves that,
knowing it was never true.

The plight of a star
may be small in comparison to all creation.
But where's our place
when our light fades?

We go out with a flash
or we fizzle
But we're all looking for the same thing,
proof that we somehow matter.