You stand and play your guitar,
You think you know what you are,
And you think you own the entire stage.
But when it blows in your face -
You know, it's such a disgrace...
And if you fall - would you turn the page?

And when you're covered in mud,
One can confuse it with blood.
You hear the journalists - like dogs at your door.
They don't care 'bout what you've sung,
'Cause all the bells have just rung,
And when they're done with you, they will ask for more.

  [chorus:]
  Run... but you can't escape.
  Run... no, you can't evade.
  You can't evade the press that presses you down,
  You can't evade the press that throws you around.
  Oh no, you can't evade the pressure.

You lie and cry on the ground,
Don't feel the buzz all around,
You hear the train just when it smashes your head.
Look into the eyes of fate;
Pray, if you still have your faith.
And if you didn't die yet - better play dead.

  [chorus:]
  Run... but you can't escape.
  Run... no, you can't evade.
  You can't evade the press that presses you down,
  You can't evade the press that throws you around.
  Oh no, you can't evade the pressure.