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Protest Star


How does it feel to be the one
They’re always talking about?
To be the name on everybody’s lips?
And all your slogans are suddenly hip?

How does it feel to be so green
And so closely observed?
They know your routine before your voice is heard
How does it feel to be a household word?

This is the arena where we work out all our traumas
Where we cut ourselves open and make fools of ourselves
Over and over again.

How does it feel to be the next flavor of the month?
A confrontational caricature?
Someone that anyone can sum up?

How would it feel to hear people say they knew you when
Before your image went to your head?
They’ll call you on everything you’ve said.

How will it feel when your ideals have become an act?
A parody of the scars on your heart?
You’re set in stone before you even start.

This is the arena where we foist our primal agony on the public
But you shouldn’t act so arrogant
Because the papers love to make you look stupid
How does it feel?

© 1996 Undulant Rhetoric (BMI)