Lyrics:

You play guitar for perfect strangers You write some words they try to sell And then you sing these things in public sometimes not very well You get paid to go to parties Drinking colors...talking trash... You get laid because you're 'arty' And you wonder why it never lasts Maybe these are wonders...more than we may know Well I hate to steal your thunder You ain't nothing special You're no more celestial than anyone else As far as I can tell Call it mythology, we see what we want to see And everyone wants their distant dreams So sure enough they want your picture And your deepest point of view Well you should know you're not that pretty And you haven't got a clue But how you love the adoration You believe your 'in-house' press And half the critics always hate you So you get horribly depressed Maybe these are wonders, more than we may know Well, I hate to steal your thunder chorus And I am the snake who bites his own tail