THE KING

Get a load of this guy, he’s back inside the tv,
spinning webs, talking out both sides of his mouth.
We tried to keep ‘em out, but this system isn’t easy.
Head on swivel, friends, these clowns aren’t fighting fair.

A pocket full of hope falls to the floor,
all our best intentions out the door.

He cracks a grin, shaking hands across the aisle.
Their evil deeds disguised by sharply fitted suits.
He’ll turn and run at any sign of danger.
He thinks himself untouchable, perfecting our abuse.

All these years what was the pain all worth?
Are we just supposed to watch it burn?

Get a load of this guy.
He thinks he’s the king,
but what goes up
must always come back down.

The directions are misleading, seems like nothing ever works.
Entertainment news has been replaced by something even worse.
Constantly uncertain of who’s telling us the truth,
we try to keep our stories straight without setting off the fuse.

Get a load of this guy.
He thinks he’s the king,
but what goes up must always come back --
what goes up must always come back
what goes up must always come back
what goes up must always come back down.