Fame’s Fickle Flutes

Adding more piano and violin

Tuning into where true healing begins

Every day is a different battle

Shouts and screams flow forth as the Earth rattles

Onlookers see a mess but I don’t care

Whatever works to get me from despair

Never been any crowd’s favorite

Those stalked by depression can attest it’s a good day if you make out alive


In the end, after we bend, been broken then put back together

Ask still, where is the thrill, in fame with fickle humans

He’s our choice, he’s just noise, we love him, oh he deserves to be hated

In the end, before we’re spent, will you still think it matters so much? Will you?

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