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.
I don't know about carry out, but you can carry me off to bed.
Everyone is from somewhere, even if you've never been there.
Hold your head up to the gun of a million cathode ray tubes aired at your tiny skull.
Snot is running down his nose, greasy fingers, smearing shabby clothes.
In your pomp and all your glory, you're a poorer man than me.