Stars

Stars, they come and go…
they come fast, they come slow…
they go like the last light of the sun all in a blaze,
and all you see is glory.
But it gets lonely there
when there’s no one there to share.
You can shake it away,
if you’ll hear a story…
People lost for fame,
like athletes in a game,
they break their collarbones and come up swinging.
Some of them are down, some of them are crowned,
some are lost and never found…
but most have seen it all.
They live their lives in sad cafés and music halls,
and they always have a story.
Some make it when they’re young
before the world has done its dirty job,
and later on someone will say,
“You’ve had your day;
now you must make way.”
But they’ll never know the pain
of living with a name you never owned,
of the years of forgetting what you know too well,
that you, who gave the crown, have been let down.
You tried to make amends without defending;
perhaps pretending you never saw the eyes of young men
at twenty-five who followed as you as you walked
and asked for autographs and kissed you on the cheek.
And you never really could believe they really loved you.
Some make it when they’re old.
Perhaps they have a soul.
They aren’t afraid to bare,
or perhaps there’s nothing there.
But anyway, that isn’t what I meant to say.
I meant to tell a story that I live from day to day.
Stars, they come and go,
they come fast, they come slow,
they come like the last light of the sun all in a blaze,
and you always- all you see is glory.
But if you don’t mind being patient with my fumbling around,
I’ll come up singing for you even though I’m done.