For some reason, my vision died
The throne turned into a chair
I was fed up with fame and glory
Business is hard, cold and mean
I think others picked the trees clean
The name of the game is that
The downhill begins where the uphill ends
A shooting star only shines until it lands
I'm done with being a clown, and I can take a hint.
I'll run out the back gate, and make a sprint for it
I tried to pour my pain into poems
All that people heard were songs
After the gig I cried behind the stage
I couldn't bear the monotony of daily life
and I couldn't find the golden mean
Even the hotels felt cheerless, because
The downhill begins where the uphill ends
A shooting star only shines until it lands
I'm done with being a clown, and I can take a hint
I'll run out the back gate, and make a sprint for it
I just put on a face that I wasn't bothered
by the hurtful, mean lies of gossip magazines,
it's useless to shout in battle without a weapon
My pencil is not a sword, it's just lead and wood
The downhill begins where the uphill ends
A shooting star only shines until it lands
I'm done with being a clown, and I can take a hint
I'll run out the back gate, and make a sprint for it
I'm done with being a clown, and I can take a hint
I'll run out the back gate, and make a sprint for it