They turn away from the famous.
He is friends with fame, and who am I?
Around him the stars gather,
They wear it on their hands, and why is it sad?

Surround the crowd, do not silence the applause,
They push and envy, and strangers around.
Even becoming the property of the nation,
There is a lack of soul to lean on the chest.

All greatness attracts
Without it, mourners.
Modesty reminds:
Idols are very lonely.