He's selling,
His story,
For fame and glory.
Letting everyone in,
As his soul pours out.
How can you let then unknown,
Sweep into the darkest part,
Of your heart?
I'd call you a sell out,
But your only spreading the word.
I'd ask for you to shut up,
But you should never take the wings off a bird.
Maybe your just so real now that you appear to be fake,
Specking so calculated,
Singing to be heard,
It makes me mad somehow,
Isn't that absurd?

I am the same way you know,
But of course you know that.
You look up to me as inspiration,
When I am really just a disgusting damp bat.
Reclusive and in hiding,
I hate to show I care.
I could have gone with you to that place,
If I wanted to share.
I rather lock my feelings up,
And scream in a sound proof garage,
Then to share my close thoughts to strangers,
Who don't know who we are.
I don't want fans,
I just want to cool down.
Writing and living,
Making my own sound.
My own secret,
For my very few to enjoy.
Because no one wants to be aware,
That I am just an innocent boy.

If sharing is caring,
Then I guess I don't care for myself at all.