I want to see me in magazines.
TV screens call out to me.
This is my only goal.
Roll up, roll up, you could be the next teen idol.
The smell of fear, the tension hangs in the air,
as countless hopefuls solemnly stare,
and the judge sits comfortably in his chair,
you've got one chance better make it a good one yeah.
But now a tear, it's not what they want to hear,
pack up my gear and then disappear,
they can't see what it is they're doing to me.
baring my heart and they're tearing at my soul.
(Low) so low,
'cos you tell me everything I sing is wrong, so long.
you absolute controlling scum.
The weeks go by, I'm staring at the TV,
a smiling child comes a looking at me,
He can't see what it is they're making him be,
He's preened and he's weaned and they're making him sing about..
'emotion, devotion, hands in the air like you just don't care'
Fuck that, watching you pedal this shit and getting away with it,
is tearing at my soul.
I'm gonna see me in magazines,
TV screens call out to me.
For this I'd sell my soul.