| (difford/tilbrook) | |
| He wants to be glorified | |
| And swallowed in fame | |
| He wants to be a hero | |
| Like kurt cobain | |
| Playing his guitar | |
| With it hung round his knees | |
| The tour bus syndrome | |
| The touring disease | |
| He stands like a soldier | |
| He's ready to charge | |
| The young girls he sleeps with | |
| Are all a mirage | |
| He wants to be wanted | |
| But doesn't know why | |
| Reality curtains | |
| Black out a blue sky | |
| Play on play on and eat up the sun | |
| Pop up to london and soak up the fun | |
| Play on play on with gathering speed | |
| Its saturday night | |
| As the ears start to bleed | |
| He wants to be famous a | |
| And fall when he's young | |
| Climbing up ladders | |
| Without any rungs | |
| Ill in the morning | |
| And wasted all day | |
| Looking demented | |
| With not much to say | |
| He pulls out a woman | |
| From under his bed | |
| Her eyes are like cherries | |
| That spin in her head | |
| If he hits the jackpot | |
| He's in the top ten |
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