| And the kid walks up to the stage
|
| With his innocence shining
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| Eager to join the parade of the damned
|
| Bearing his confidence lightly
|
| Wearing his heart on his sleeve
|
| Shares out his passion twice nightly
|
| And he begs us to cast and believe
|
| The kid’s quickly turning the page
|
| While the juices are flowing
|
| No assurance he gave worth a damn
|
| Playing the room like a trouper
|
| Maybe it’s gone to his head
|
| Fame takes him up as a suitor…
|
| The kid gladly climbs in her bed
|
| Call it a Faustian deal
|
| But the demons that chase him are real enough
|
| The kid at the front of the stage gathers all the attention
|
| Help that he hired has been paid off in full
|
| Sweeps up the laurels and plaudits
|
| It seems they’re no more than his due
|
| A price will be paid in the audit
|
| But the kid never thought such things through
|
| The kid’s terrified of the stage
|
| With his innocence tarnished
|
| Buries himself in ahazy half-life
|
| Fame’s a vindictive and unyielding lover…
|
| Hiding away on his own
|
| The kid’s not the first to discover
|
| Applause can’t sustain you alone
|
| Call it a Faustian deal
|
| But the demons that chase him are real enough
|
| Everything he touched is broken
|
| Everything is damned
|
| And he’s running away from the stage
|
| Just as fast as he can |