I’m not the hero you’re looking for,
I’m not the man you think.
I’ve lied and hurt and cheated and stole.
I smoke, I toke, I drink.
With power and fame and money and game
comes each and every vice.
My art was never artless:
but brimming with artifice.
The rules are different for guys like me,
at least that’s what they said.
And I believed them, and pretty soon
the power went to my head.
“Come here,” “stand there”, “a mocha chai latte!”
I’d scream at servants many.
“Good help is so hard to find,” I’d say,
“there really isn’t any.”
I’d push and I’d crush and move on to
the next project without a break,
never noticing the devastation I was
leaving in my wake.
The broken hearts, the crippled careers,
the extent of innocence lost:
the weight of all my sins combined,
the price of fame, the cost.
I never asked to be a hero,
but I’ve enjoyed it I’ll admit.
The higher up you raised me
the further I fall to shit.
I’ve taken a hit, but I’ll recover
and return in a renaissance.
But what of those whom I’ve abused,
who may never sing or dance?
Remember me for my art,
my single noblest part.
Do not peek behind the stage:
it’ll only break your heart.
Learn from my life, exceed it
in every way you can.
Dream and lead and succeed,
be an example to every man.
The time has come for you to
choose your heroes anew.
The time has come for me to leave
and I bid you adieu.