[Entry number three, I've 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 that's 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 baby's 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 can't 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 I'll cut you all open, I'll see what's inside you or what's missing
While this virgin, your daughter, skirt down in the altar - she don't owe you a God damn thing
'Cause she's gorgeous, I'll take her to the house by the lake where I'll write her a song
While you fat pigs with call-girls, 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 you're 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