Tell the King

didn't give you something to be proud about if you come up the hard way they remind you every day: 'you're nothing' my words in your moth are mumbled all about you're like a tabloid journalist the way you cut and paste and twist: you're awful go and tell it to your king, tell him everything tell him you know how I feel tell him you know how I feel at the palace gates when I'm all levered off my face and I can work out what it's not about and see snakes in eyes and a million danger signs if you come late you shouldn't dare complain and you won't like this at all there's nothing to break your fall and you know how I feel out of place until I'm levered off my face....