On Stage.

I am standing on the stage.

My heart expands and contracts as if it's about to burst, pumping blood throughout my body.

People in the massive stadium have poured in like a violent tide to watch me,

waiting to see my violent and sadistic side.

The gaze of a fanatical fandom that cannot distinguish between the stage persona and the person offstage,

they only accept me as a violent and crazed woman.

On stage, I am dancing while wearing a mask.

I wonder, was that dance really the one I wanted?

I'm gradually being swallowed by the mask.

Dictator, violence, heavy drinker—those things swallow my essence and eat away at my true self.

I don't know anymore; now my body just follows wherever the mask rotates and moves.

Is this really the version of me you all want to see?

Do you even know the essence of my songs?

Is this fun for you?

This isn't who I am.

I'm not this violent.

Don't look at me that way.

Someone, please help me.

Please save my true self.

Burnout.

The performance is over.

The enthusiasm and cheers of the fanatical fandom have cleared away.

At home, I throw myself into the pool with a splash.

The surface of the water shatters, and the dense liquid presses against my body.

Floating on the surface due to buoyancy, I look at the sky.

Watching the countless lines created by falling raindrops, I begin to think and worry.

My true self is gradually being consumed by the 'me' on stage.

The me who sang passionately and hotly on stage.

That person is gone now.

I'm fed up with everything.

I want to leave everything behind and run away.

But I probably couldn't live without that fandom.

Without the record label, I wouldn't be able to make much money.

If I don't receive the gaze and attention, I will slowly cool down and die.

Should I buy an expensive car?

Should I call over handsome men and have a party?

Should I set off a bomb?

Should I drink?

Should I smash things?

No matter what I choose, I won't be able to become hot like I used to be.

The Gaze

When I leave the house, I'm greeted by countless paparazzi.

The clicking sounds and camera flashes sparkle as if they don't care about my eyes at all.

Even today, the internet is full of stories about me.

Claims that I chewed and ate a pigeon, or that I got into a fight...

They are projecting my stage persona onto my actual life.

I don't want to live moving wherever the public gaze pushes me.

I don't want to be hurt by a few malicious comments.

I hate the record label that treats my work as mere entertainment.

I hate my heart, which is gradually growing to loathe the fans and the music.

How did it end up like this?

I just loved music and worked hard.

Why have I ended up so pained and sad?

I want to quit, but I want to shake off the gazes and problems that entangle me like a spiderweb and be happy.

But the place I eventually return to is...

The Stage.