Lord, tell me how long it's going to take me to get famous? Will it take a week in vaudeville, a season in pantomime Two years on the West End stage, a decade or maybe more? Because I can't afford to wait 'til I'm dribbling, bald, toothless, spineless and brainless I don't believe in your afterlife and your posterity But, if they exist, I must be at least half the way there And Lord, what if it takes a decade? I am no longer young Show me the road to fame, Lord, show me that road Or just the road to the next whiskey bar
And Lord, what will it take, what will it take to get me to be and to stay famous? Am I going to have to sell my soul to the stylists and the tailors of this world If I'm not to go down in history as one of the failures? Lord, teach me the boy band dance routines Above all teach me to be tame, bland, blind and blameless Cos that's the hardest thing of all, to be aggressive and yet remain harmless To edit out my impure thoughts when you know so well, Lord, that I'm shameless Principled, amoral, provocative, confrontational and shameless
And Lord, how long did it take you to get famous? After you'd created this fantastic planet and all the animals upon it That creep about upon its surface It must've taken a million years or more before Anyone even thought to give a name to the nameless And then, in the blinking of an eye the backlash came The cynics crowded round saying you didn't even exist Oh, fashion is fickle, Lord, you know that more than I do The backlash always comes, no matter what you've done Created a world or that difficult third album
And the Lord said:
"Don't ask me, I have no idea All I know how to do is how to hide How to hide and disappear"
Lord tell me, where will it take me, what strange place will it take me, being famous? Am I destined to be rich beyond the wildest dreams of men? Will I rest at last between the breasts and legs of delicate oriental girls, and make babies? Will I be transported back to the house where I was born in a limousine twenty foot long While a crowd stands by foaming at the mouth like dogs with rabies? Will I be borne on the shoulders of the crowd? Will I be taken from the back of the stadium to the front of the stadium to the back of the stadium Tossed around and shocked by what was allowed?
And Lord, who do you have to sleep with in this town Who do you have to go down on to get famous? Lord tell me what soundtracks do I have to do, what drugs do I have to do, how old is too old How many free copies should I give away with every album sold? I'm not trying to say I'm fit to dine at your table All I'm saying is we all use the same tricks if we're able
Lord, I have friends, I've watched them, one by one, become famous While they complimented me on my songs, I smiled in my corner alone Watched their inner birds spread their wings and fly Though I had an inner bird too, Lord, you know, mine remained a swan in cellophane Trapped under a glass ceiling, a bird in a transparent cage Lord, why do this to me? Why let me die having given me a bird and never let it fly? Lord, why? Why?
And Lord, tell me, how long did it take you to get famous? You who sent your dearly beloved son down to walk the planet earth and be amongst us? You who chose to give him sensational powers so he could do tricks much better than ours And work miracles to impress us? Lord, you did it for the publicity, I know, I understand But then the backlash came, we turned on your son and he was slain No matter what you've done, the backlash always comes Created a world, given your son, or your difficult third album
And the Lord said:
"Don't ask me, I have no idea All I know how to do is how to hide ..... and disappear"