They're Yours

Shera, you wanted fans, now look at the crowd Thousands of voices screaming your name loud They know every song, every word, every scar They think they know you just because they know who you are They buy every record, every shirt, every chain They defend your name like they’re sharing your pain Some love the music, some love the image Some build a whole religion around your fucking existence And you call them fans, but I call them people Not numbers on a screen, not disposable people They gave you their time, they gave you their trust So don't become another asshole who forgets them once he’s up Scream: Don't fucking treat them like wallets. Don't fucking treat them like followers. They're the reason you're standing there. Remember that. They waited in the cold just to see you perform Sang your words when their own lives felt torn Maybe your music was there when nobody else was Maybe one fucking song kept somebody from giving up So when they scream your name, don't laugh at the sound When they reach for your hand, don't look down You don't owe them your soul, you don't owe them your life But you owe them respect for standing by your side Some will worship you, some will criticize Some will love every album, some will hate your replies Some will cross the line, some will act insane But don't punish every fan for the actions of one name Scream: Fame gave you an audience. Your music gave them a reason to stay. Don't fucking forget the difference. Because when the cameras disappear and the headlines finally die... the fans who stayed will be the ones who remember who Shera was.