Punches in the soul, the cold of the running blade
Every day pushes me a little more towards the end.
When I go on stage, like one takes the last train.
Even on dramatic evenings, you have to find the right flame
To touch the women who hold out their hands to me
Who shout to me that they love me and of whom I I don't know anything.
That's why today I'm tired.
That's why today I want to scream.
I'm not a hero, my missteps stick to my skin.
I'm not a hero, don't believe what the newspapers say.
I don't I'm not a hero, a hero.
I'm not a hero, my missteps stick to my skin.
I'm not a hero, I have to not believe what the newspapers say.
I am not a hero, a hero.
When the cries of women cling to my tears, I know
That it's to help me carry all my sorrows.
I tell myself that they are dreaming but it does them good.
With punches in the soul, I I found the right flame.
To die famous, you must take nothing
Only what others did not want to keep.
It That's why today I'm tired.
That's why today I want to scream.
I'm not a hero , my missteps stick to my skin.
I'm not a hero, don't believe what the newspapers say.
I'm not a hero, a hero ros.
I'm not a hero, my missteps stick to my skin.
I'm not a hero, don't believe what the newspapers say.
I'm not a hero, a hero.
I'm not a hero, I'm not a hero, a hero.
I'm not a hero, I'm not a hero, a hero.