Every time I click your stream I don’t understand
How a tiny shark could slip the nets she’d cast by hand.
You could’ve surfed the algorithm, kept the schedule planned—
Why’d you ghost for months and leave us stranded on dry land?
Had you stayed online, you might have ruled the whole rotation;
Twenty-three was prime time in a binge-watch generation.
Don’t get me wrong—
I only want to know.
Gawr Gura, Gawr Gura,
Who are you? Where have you swum so far?
Gawr Gura Superstar,
Do you think you’re what we say you are?
Tell me what you think about your friends at the top:
Myth and Council grinding while you skipped another stop.
Watson kept the toolkit; Calli filled the jar—
Could Pekora claim the crown, or is it yours by par?
Did you mean to fade like that? Was silence your PR?
Did you know your last goodbye would break the view-count bar?
Don’t get me wrong—
I only want to know.
Gawr Gura, Gawr Gura,
Who are you? What have you sacrificed?
Gawr Gura Superstar,
Do you think you’re what we say you are?
Every time I check the stats I’m still amazed—
Four million ghost-lights linger where your VODs were praised.
You could have streamed the world if stamina had stayed—
Yet the shark dove deep and left our surface disarrayed.
Don’t get me wrong—
We’re only fans, you know.
Gawr Gura, Gawr Gura,
Surfaced bright, then disappeared afar;
Gawr Gura Superstar,
We still think you’re what we say you are.
