To Hakkespetter

Prisen for berømmelse

Flashes here , Flashes there

Flashes everywhere

Click! Click! Click!

The sound of the cameras are louder than anything else.

"Morten , are you single?"

"Morten , Are you a virgin?" 

"Morten , Are you planning to go solo?"

"Morten , how does it feel to be a sex symbol?"

With Questions - apart from music.

Questions that made no absolute sense.

Bombardment. Irritation. 

Dominant. Deep. within. 

But i can't show it. 

Because i'm in the public eye.

They follow me.

Wherever my foot lands on.

I can't have a quiet walk on the park anymore

I can't visit a local John , when i needed to

I can't go anywhere

Because of the Price of Fame

Fame is okay.

It's not like i don't enjoy it.

But it's unhealthy. 

One one hand.

Fans are beautiful people.

They scream my name in adoration. Not for attention.

I love them . 

On the other hand.

Tabloids are Junkies. 

They scream my name in unwanted attention. 

I don't like them. 

My life is weird. 

Some of them want a piece of me.

A piece of music. For their hearts.

And a piece of my life. For greed and money.

I'm just a human. 

A musician. 

A person. 

Not a showpiece. 

Normal is now far from reach.

The only way i can pay the price of fame

Is to be as watchful as possible. 

There are scandalous snakes everywhere. 

Waiting to put me down. I'm scared. 

But.

Also.

There are faithful orchids (fans) as well.

Please save me from them. 

I love you all.

This is written in perspective of various interviews of Morten.