[Entry number three, Ive come to the conclusion that I am not in fact the messiah after all] Grandfather burned up to ash and returned to the earth it spawned This nefarious prank thats controlled by the lengths of his arms And the kindred is gathering by coffin and chaplain on his behalf And [a] discreet tender man clears his throat, waves his hand following a laugh And the band plays on Does it hurt yet? I hope it does, I hope it hurts like hell Like a fat babys birth, like a cry and a curse at the breathing space While the mother rejoices, ten fingers, ten toes, and a handsome face And the family is gasping, each one cant help asking How was it, my dear? Like a scorn for the one that was torn and deformed for the next cruel years, next cruel years, oh And the band plays on So Ill cut you all open, Ill see whats inside you or whats missing While this virgin, your daughter, skirt down in the altar she dont owe you a God damn thing Cause shes gorgeous, Ill take her to the house by the lake where Ill write her a song While you fat pigs with callgirls, they dance in the ballrooms shaking their wallets at God And the notes fill the pages, I scramble to paste up my bleeding heart And this sick song moves on, if youre lucky lifelong you can sing a part as it falls apart The band plays on The band plays on, the band plays on The band plays on, the band plays on The band plays on, the band plays on
band, play, fat, callgirls, cruel