What if I really am just some bloke?
What if Spielberg doesn’t spot me in Wal-Mart
Saying I’m the superstar he’s been waiting to discover?
What if my ramblings are just that?
Not literary genius just waiting for Oxford head brass
To say this is the one, the one we’ve been searching for?
Is it possible that my off pitch string bends
Are not really the reincarnation of Hendrix, but just sloppy playing?
Maybe I am not really Brad Paisley’s next surprise opening act?
What if all the fantasies that enter my mind
That have haunted me for most of this crazy life
Are just that, fantasies and not premonitions?
What if, in this vast amazing, crazy, scary world
I have no more significance than anyone else
And all that I will ever be, is just some bloke?
Can I rationalize that? Can I accept that?
Will I ever choose to really think about it?
Would I ever risk finding out?
Or maybe what the world thinks doesn’t matter
Maybe I will just revel in being more than just some bloke
To the ones who love me