I used to think success would make me happy.
I used to feel that fame would make me proud.
I craved the glory and the gold,
The influence untold,
The ride upon the shoulders of the crowd.
Today my price is 20 mil a picture;
Now that’s about two hundred bucks a frame,
And there’s a lot I didn’t know
Till I became
A household name.
It’s awful nice to do the thing you’re good at,
And mostly, the attention is divine.
There’s nothing like the thrill
Of being the first they bill,
And reading just how brilliantly you shine.
But when you flub a line or fudge an accent,
The pundits take their swift and deadly aim.
It’s quite the dirty little rush
When you can shame
A household name.
They gorge upon your beauty
And they gobble up your youth.
They photograph you flawlessly-
Your mother knows the truth.
You’re splashed across those magazines
That mock the privileged few.
You share the wry amusement
Till the joke’s on you,
On you.
You feel the march of time
Across your forehead;
You dread the subtle soft’ning of your jaw.
It seems the public would prefer
You stay the way you were,
Or else they take it as a personal faux pas.
I’ve hardly had a meal since I was twenty,
Since fat is incompatible with fame.
I learned the rules, I got the breaks,
And I became
A household name.
Fans dog me at the market;
They’re adoring or they’re cruel.
Reporters climb the hedge
And sometimes crash into the pool.
Today my mother told me
I was acting like a star.
The trick is not to be one,
When of course you are,
You are.
Well, none of it has truly made me happy,
Though some of it has really made me proud.
And I’d be slightly insincere
To say I didn’t love to hear
The clapping and the cheering of the crowd,
Oh yeah.
Some years from now, relaxing in my rocker,
I’ll be glad I had the guts to play the game-
‘Cause they can try to kill your spirit
But no one’s gonna douse my little flame,
Even tomorrow,
When I’m no longer a household name,
Household name.
