I'm the band in a show 'bout a man holding hands with his wife
On a therapist's couch with his face to the ground after fucking around countless nights
And there's this one episode, close-up cameras were showing him crying
His red head and his red eyes

I'm a band in a show 'bout a boy being buried alive
From his head to his toes by a criminal but with a sensitive soul with a set of raccoon eyes
And there's this scene in the show when a hustler knows he's gonna die
The ground opens and he climbs inside

And as he speaks his last line, a thought falls from his mind and I pick it up right it through the TV
Oh, oh
Is there a hand to take hold of the scene?

I'm a man in a dream and there, dancing in front of my eyes
Is the queen, formed out of flaws with her eyes all gone odd and a rod bolted into her spine
She rises up like a yawn, grips my heart like a claw, splits apart like a jaw, like an eye
And she asks me with a sigh

When we're so far from right
When we're losing the fight
When we're letting the light weaken it's beam
Oh, oh
Is there a hand to take hold of the scene?

I want a smile like a glistening shard, I want a kiss that's as sharp as a knife
The day expires
And the dry, cracked, trembling lips God saw fit to put this kiss inside
I lift them up to you, I'd like to bear witness to a light that is fine and is filling the cryingest eyes
Grace in each face that is making the wastedest, brokenest ones fairly fly
Love that is innocent, of that old cynical, covetous, cancerous vibe
And a beauty that annihilates all life

Like it's lived in these nights, holding your hatred tight
Like a sign that you're right or you're strong
When your doors are shut tight, I will dream you tonight
And my dream will just sweep you along
When all the fires are fanned, when we're shucking our plans
When we're too weak to stand on our two feet
Oh, oh
Is there a hand to take hold of this scene?

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