Name: Cult of Personality
Channel: Terry Atkinson
Description: "Cult of Personality" is a song by Xybor. A song about fame and celebrity in our culture.

Cult of Personality

Xybor

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A song about fame and celebrity in our culture.

xybor cosmonaut

Xybor

Eccentric mix of plop flop blazz and fluzzenglak.

Xybor and the Cosmonauts come from the planet Kaelon in where you call the Andromeda galaxy. We are on an intergalactic tour (ta daaa!!) and came to Prazoloog (Earth) to check out the music scene here (two droobgongs way up!!). We are: Xybor -- zingstok (vocals); Gleek -- quaznip (guitar); Zoink -- blazergonk (bass); Fizzgig -- kapongdong (percussion); Pakadook -- deebledoip (keyboards and unearthly sounds)

Song Info

Genre

Pop • Pop Rock

Charts

Peak #158

Peak in subgenre #38

Author

Terry Atkinson

Rights

2005

Uploaded

October 07, 2005

Track Files

MP3

MP3 3.9 MB • 128 kbps • 0:00

Story behind the song

I am amused by our fixation on fame and celebrity.  We place a lot of value on people that have achieved celebrity, and place great value in what they say and do. In the end, at the end of the day, we are all just people. No more, no less

Lyrics

Cult of Personality
copyright 2005 Terence Atkinson

I don't know what you've been told
What you've bought, or what you've sold
Its all the same to me
A cult of personality

From my perspective, its what I see
This kookie magic called celebrity
Be it voodoo, vibe or zen
Or just religion

Fame graces those on whom we facinate
In your mind's eye
Do they flash like a neon sign?

I never see no
I never hear no
I never speak no
I'm a cynical guy
Sometimes I feel lost when the lines get crossed
Living behind the night
'til I see the light

Well, I can see by your eyes
Your eyes they tell me everything
Well, I can see your disguise
Your eyes, they tell me eveything

On by one, I've seen them come
But, soon enough, they all come undone
A cause celebrity
A cursed personality

Fame rescues vain from obscurity
But, we obsess
And the paparazzi find their prey

[chorus]

They are the chosen ones
In whom that we beseech
Whom we stroke with out attention
Who are sulking prima donnas
Who need would-be sycophants
But, a man is a man at the end of the day
And we are left with what they say

[chorus]