Besedila: Every Time I Die. Gutter Phenomenon. Guitared and Feathered.

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 your 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 triumphs of the frauds to all his loyal sycofanatics
We all cater to the fire once the walls come rushing down for shame
I can say it better than you felt it
And I can be it bigger than you needed it
I haven't spent a day of my life apart from the one everyone's read about
I'll spark de-evolution
I was specially bred for the cover page of your magazines
I've been fattened up for the guillotines
Sweet talker, you're goddamn right I'm a blessed lamb
I can show you how to have a good time
I know why you came here, but neither of us will get what you want out of me
This room has one too many laureates so I'm keeping my peace
Every candidate ends his life with a cliche, and the paths of glory lead to nowhere but the grave
I've been spoiled rotten
Every thought I've authored has curdled
Not everything is poetry but I can't convince you of that
I've been drawn and quartered
I've been twice picked over
And it's sickening what you've come here today to celebrate
Fuck yea we're gonna party tonight
I am capable of the kind of love about which only the intoxicated and the California bound can weep