Songtext von TV Dinner

Hypothesise a hero's rise and teach them all to then despise It is our way to make a king Romanticise how they begin, fetishize their struggling While all the while they're suffering In every worming memory of what they truly are The rigmarole, the tortured soul, the constant spin The merry-go-roundhouse kick into the face, sheer loss of private space The moths, the snakes, the tiny waist-coat tail riders suck the grace And little colour out my face, the cancer in a padlock case No one gets into my space No one gets into my space The market before anything The darkest days are yet to sing Like Winehouse, she was just a bairn They love her now but bled her then They reared me as a class clown Grass fed little cash cow I cashed out, headed hell bound And now they point and laugh No one gets into my space No one gets into my space Am I up to this? Am I up to this? Am I up to this? No one gets in I'll sell my story when it's true, I'll paint a pretty pic of you I'll walk amongst the ones who walk and talk when I am born I'm in the embryonic state On borrowed time, I clean my plate With a TV dinner I spectate The fucks all gesticulate The chip on shoulder pulsates, my hatred, it mutates Posh cunt had me irate, he say: We're all the same Are you wild? Do you have enemies? A start with no amenities? A mark that bleeds a legacy? A spark without tuition fee? A darkness that they envy? They frenzy to befriend me But I kna yee, yel sell me Yel sell me, yel kill me No one gets into my space No one gets into my space Am I up to this? Am I up to this? Am I up to this? Am I up to this? Am I up to this? Am I up to this? No one gets into my space