How to Get - and Stay - Famous - Momus

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 till 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 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

So I said:

Lord, if that is all you can say to me

Share with me the secret of your immaculate obscurity