Текст песни TV Dinner - Sam Fender

Hypothesise
A heroes 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 in to my space
No one gets in to 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 in to my space
No one gets in to 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
Said, '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
I kna yee
Yel sell me
Yel sell me
Yel kill me

No one gets in to my space
No one gets in to my space
Am I up to this?
Am I up to this?
Am I up to this?

No one gets in to my space