 Don't worry, someone still believes in something
A religion of these words on a page
For the sake of a cult following gathered at the base of a stage
Who are usually hanging on the every word
Of a nobody who has nothing to say
And who are getting drunk on the blood of their Christ
On every Irish Saturday night in every small town
So don't you worry, someone still believes in suffering
For what they believe they have the right to say
One nail through both feet in true martyr form
As a mother warns of the blood of both palms and to stay sane
"don't validate those words
With the sound of a gun like that Kurt Cobain"
Where the only sound was the cold scraping of teeth
After passing through lips and then a trigger pulled into silence
So get drunk on the blood of your Christ on every Irish Saturday night
Making Sunday synonymous with a hangover
And a forgiveness for all of the week's sins
Because we pray for it all at the end of the day
Instead of just being good people in the first place
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