They turn away from the famous one.
He is friends with glory, and who am I?
Stars gather around him,
They carry him in their arms, yet why is he sad?

A crowd surrounds him, ovations do not fall silent,
They shove and they envy, yet all around are strangers.
Even having become a treasure of the nation,
There is no soul to press to his chest.

Greatness attracts everyone
Without it they are mournful.
Modesty reminds us:
Idols are very lonely.