If I met George Clooney today,
And we decided to go down the street,
To the nearest cafe,
And grab something to eat,
I think I would say:
Hello, and how are you doing today?
And what is it like to be you everyday?
The power, the fame, the world at your feet,
The villa in Italy and anything you want,
Is yours for the asking and taking, after all,
You are voted the sexiest man alive.
What is it like, at just 44, to have legions of fans,
Mad screaming fans wherever you go?
To be friends with the most famous and powerful of mortals,
Brad Pitt and Matt Damon, and to not ever have to,
If you didn't want to,
Work another day in your life?
What are you working on?
What are your plans,
For the good of the earth,
For your fellow man?
Certainly you see all the need and destruction,
All the pain and corruption,
All the helpless and hurting,
Who have been given so little,
While you have been given so much, so much!
What are you doing,
Or what will you do,
To make sure the wealth that God gave you is used?
To make sure it wasn't in vain that you had,
Such humor and wit,
Such glamour and style,
Such effortless charisma at your fingertips?
And in reply,
He'll probably turn to me and say,
While he looks me in the eye,
"I support various groups,
I give donations to some,
And I hope through those groups,
Much good works can be done."
"It's nice to be wanted, it's nice to be loved,
It's nice to have fans who all scream for a hug.
My friends are a riot.
We enjoy mutual admiration.
And the villa in Italy is no small consolation."
"But really, it's not what you think it might be.
There are days when even I'm not happy.
There are good days and bad days and days in between,
And no matter how much money you have,
There will always be
"No matter how much you have,
There's always the next great big thing.
You quickly adapt and you quickly adjust,
Your standards are raised and then,
What was normal seems substandard at best,
And what was extraordinary is now,
Normal and expected."
"So really, our lives are quite parallel,
We both live in our own personal hells,
Of course my hell is like heaven to you,
But once you get comfy it'll seem like hell too.
We are all finite beings in a mysterious world,
Wanting infinite pleasure and constant perfection,
And great beauty that never tires or fades,
But always evades."
"And thus, despite all the trappings of wealth,
In all the ways that really matter,
We are really more or less the same, you see,
You and me."