Its a touchy subject

I've walked hundreds of miles on hearts still beating,

I see the passions of men,

The very thought of love is often fleeting.

Ever fear you will be important forever?

Lost in the sea of attention, 

the hands that can't see the end of never?

I talk to the dead,

They are often famous,

Known for the words they said,

their day to day was heinous.

Imagine being touched in places that you didn't know of,

Random people walking in your place,

Imagine your belongings being shown off,

Every 13 year old knows your forever resting face.

Imagine being popular,

Enough to be in magazines.

I wish I could be popular,

Just enough to get me on their TV screens.