Curtains draw open and closed.
When a SHOW closes, the curtains are (at least) metaphorically closed.
When we arise in the morning, the curtains are metaphorically opened.
The subject sees their idols on the stage. She or he (I'll stick with "she" for the rest of this analysis for expedience sake) wants to reach out to them, she wants them to help her, heal her; she doesn't understand how they can speak to her through their music, but won't speak to her in real life. When the show ends, the curtain's drawn, and that barrier remains.
At home, she returns to listening to their music, hoping for salvation, while pining and wallowing in self-pity. The stars never meant that. They want her to experience life, be inspired by their music to recognize herself and accept that it's up to her to be her own catalyst for change. But she lies there on her bed like a martyr, until she falls asleep listening to their music. In the morning, they are, of course, still not there. She opens the curtains and curses the day, but she'll put those same songs on again, knowing that at the very least there are people out there that understand her pain.
Maybe, someday, she'll figure out that their message actually is that the people who understand her aren't confined to them, the musicians whose affection and attention she so craves. And she can't find those people by locking herself in her room.
(For me, the key to this interpretation is the line "Dreaming only of the ones who never dream of you". Her "dreams" are being "ignored" by MORE THAN ONE party.)
Curtains draw open and closed. When a SHOW closes, the curtains are (at least) metaphorically closed. When we arise in the morning, the curtains are metaphorically opened.
The subject sees their idols on the stage. She or he (I'll stick with "she" for the rest of this analysis for expedience sake) wants to reach out to them, she wants them to help her, heal her; she doesn't understand how they can speak to her through their music, but won't speak to her in real life. When the show ends, the curtain's drawn, and that barrier remains. At home, she returns to listening to their music, hoping for salvation, while pining and wallowing in self-pity. The stars never meant that. They want her to experience life, be inspired by their music to recognize herself and accept that it's up to her to be her own catalyst for change. But she lies there on her bed like a martyr, until she falls asleep listening to their music. In the morning, they are, of course, still not there. She opens the curtains and curses the day, but she'll put those same songs on again, knowing that at the very least there are people out there that understand her pain.
Maybe, someday, she'll figure out that their message actually is that the people who understand her aren't confined to them, the musicians whose affection and attention she so craves. And she can't find those people by locking herself in her room.
(For me, the key to this interpretation is the line "Dreaming only of the ones who never dream of you". Her "dreams" are being "ignored" by MORE THAN ONE party.)