We feel the need before we came to this dance
We come in peace, we fall to pieces
We smash and grab and then we smoke some fags and leave
Our call to arms is largely disregarded
'Tis the season for high treason
And in the midst of all the hype we still believed

I'm Don Quixote in a fetching onesie
Turning tables, burning stables
And down amongst the dossers king of all I see
Oh feel the need, feel the burn as I bleed
My one desire to fan the flames of me
Me, and nothing else but me

God's gift, a high plains drifter
Comes to town
He brings a saintly sickness
And we all fall down

High five, we stand in line and we
Praise his frame
Lockjaw, our throats are sore so
We scream his name

As I stride this lonely stage
Bleeding from my swollen rage
This queasy crown
We all fall down
I can't do this alone