You were bred for humanity and sold to society. One day you'll wake up in the present day, a million generations removed from the expectations of being who you really want to be.
Snot is running down his nose, greasy fingers, smearing shabby clothes.
Everyone is from somewhere, even if you've never been there.
I don't know about carry out, but you can carry me off to bed.
In your pomp and all your glory, you're a poorer man than me.
Take your place in a wiser world of bigger motor cars.