Guitarred and Feathered Every Time I Die

This is a cause for celebration
Here in the belly of the swarm
The situation demands that we raise our glasses
In honor of the spokesman we've fixated to the floor

Give us your headlines, hymns and your saddest verse
You're not partnered with the half-hearted anymore
Our legs are spread wide open
Our weary heads are splitting at the seams and we all know
You're proficient in the idioms of grief

We are capable of the kind of love
About which only the petrified can speak

Concede him the microphone
Let him sing the triumph of the frauds
To all his loyal psycho-fanatics

We all cater to the fire
Once the walls come rushing down for shame

Well, I can say it better than you felt it
I can be it bigger than you needed it
I haven't lived a day of my life
Apart from the one that everyone's read about