| Nobody’s second guess’ll get to surpass you
|
| In your over-estimation of your innate worth
|
| And your natural virtue
|
| But someone’s hear to bend your ear with a quiet word
|
| Best pay attention, you’ll get no better advice:
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| Clamp on the crampons, riding for a fall tonight
|
| Get a grip, this slippery slope you stand on
|
| Is a sheet of black ice
|
| Now the rush of blood’s gushing in upon you
|
| In slow motion you strain to maintain your poise
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| The red carpet reception
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| A clear spotlight affair that you can’t avoid
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| Forward projection, everyone here seems so nice
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| Handbags and gladrags, milk the applause tonight
|
| Geta grip, this starry stair you’re cliimbing’s
|
| Built on blocks of black ice
|
| There’s no safety net ready there to catch you
|
| And your overstated case has unravelled fast
|
| This is no perfect playground
|
| Though stardom’s accidental moment has been a blast
|
| You try to get a grip
|
| But the hipster trip’s undone you
|
| You’re skidding on the black ice |