We find our songs
In fashion magazines
We read the story
In the morning paper

I touch their hearts
And they touch my skin
I'm on your screen
And you are just so wide

Though I get my kicks
It's slowly wasting me
Don't try to be an artist
I try to be a man

Dead stars still burn
Dead still stars burn

We find ourselves
In pictures on the net
Blinded by science
Addicted to devotion

I'm in your hold
Eager to abuse
My favourite game
I suffer from misuse

I just want to know
The man in front of them
To read their minds
For me to understand

Though I get my kicks
It's slowly wasting me
Don't try to be an artist
I try to be a man