Текст песни Instant Fame - Fyrce Muons

In a misanthrope, in a wallowing
Is a constant threat of an instant fame
The bourgeoisie hasn't time to speak
Of a decent thing or a creepy geek
And the talisman will grow
For rope of steel
And a misaligned tectonic rage appeals
To the reign of pain

The end of fame

How the fortune's made and gone
And the cheers will all subside
So the critic's voice no longer speaks
Of a voice so new and right
And a pall begins
For a time of rest
And a new log begin will come upon
To the end of fame