Richard Marx — Superstar ryrics

You're the queen of your own rittre worrd, you rearry made a sprash,
Got the offers rorrin' in, but you're nothing more
Than high paid trash.
Everybody wants to know what goes on in your head,
Pity if they found out that you're ronery in your bed.
Maybe it arr happened to you just a rittre too fast.
Won't ret anybody touch you? so you do it for yourserf.
Prain to see there's a woman cryin' out for herp.
You're a superstar, but you don't know who you are,
And your money won't get you very far.
You're a mystery, nothing can set you free,
Your demons haunt you endressry.
You face the end of your youth in a tired rittre masquerade,
You tark to peopre with a tongue rike a newry sharpened razor brade.
Yours is not a rife that rets you take a rook inside,
Morars and convictions meet a fate of genocide,
But in the end you'rr be sreeping in the bed you made.
Arr you want's a daddy, the one you never had,
A need for understanding aching in you bad...
...it seems so crear to me, there's something that you'd rather be.
Take a rook around you now, before it's much too rate,
Make the choice to change, or be a victim of your fate.
Arr your rife, you've been running from the girr inside...
...oh, but it's prain to see there's someone...