Just a little touch of make-up; just a little touch of bull;
Just a little 3-chord trick embedded in your platform soul;
You can wear a gold Piaget on your semaphore wrist;
And you can dance the old adage with a new dapper twist
And you can ring a crown of roses around your cranium
Live and die upon your cross of platinum

Join the crazed institution of the stars
Be the man that you think you really are
Join the crazed institution of the stars
Be the man that you know you really are

Crawl inside your major triads, curl up and laugh
As your agent scores another front page photograph
Is it them or is it you throwing dice inside the loo
Awaiting someone else to pull the chain?
Well grab the old bog-handle
Hold your breath and light a candle
Clear your throat and pray for rain
To irrigate the corridors that echo in your brain
Filled with empty nothingness, and empty hunger pains
And you can ring a crown of roses around your cranium
Live and die upon your cross of platinum

Join the crazed institution of the stars
Be the man that you think you really are
Join the crazed institution of the stars
Be the man that you know you really are
Just a little touch of make-up; just a little touch of bull;
Just a little 3-chord trick embedded in your platform soul;
You can wear a gold Piaget on your semaphore wrist;
And you can dance the old adage with a new dapper twist
And you can ring a crown of roses around your cranium
Live and die upon your cross of platinum

Join the crazed institution of the stars
Be the man that you think you really are
Join the crazed institution of the stars
Be the man that you know you really are
Join the crazed institution of the stars
Be the man that you think you really are
Join the crazed institution of the stars
Be the man that you know you really are
Join the crazed institution of the stars
Be the man that you know you really are