I am blinded with too many stars and bulbs
They are printed on factories and plants
To my sorrow they not only shine, but sing
Their god label, air is rating.
Their visions, all their aims and worries,
Here's the main thought of pop girls and boysÂ…
Popular ah I am popular.
I'm scared of your empty eyes,
Your pretty-candy songs meaningless lie.
Thinking that you are a star:
I am popular I am popular.
What a vain creature you are,
Only currency keeps you alive.
Manager told that you are:
You're so popular, Oh you're so popular.
May be you baby sing better than me,
But why I want to vomit when you sing,
May be you baby get much more than me,
But why are you still looking so cheap?
Zombies can't play truthly thaw
Weren't make me believe you're alive
The only aim in your mind:
To be popular, oh to be popular.
What should I do What could I do
Not to get lunacy?
Where shall I run, hide under ground
From the star rain.
Belt spinning heads turning round,
Children's waiting for their sweets in time.
They're fed and you're screaming loud
Yes I am popular I am popular!
Blinded with this shooting stars
Whatever you'll pack shit, It weren't be a sweet.
Blinded with this shooting stars
Whatever you'll pack shit, It weren't be a sweet.
It weren't be a sweet. A sweet. A sweet