[Intro] [detuned clean electric, fuzzy bass rumble] [Verse 1] [gritty baritone vocals] (Ahem) Well, the label read the diaries and the biopics had their say But the hero of the story got froze on one bad day Living off performance, touring, pills and spin What a mastermind of sadness, what a noble sin We all watched the slow crash in convenient black-and-white We all sold the T-shirts like we knew his right 'Cause you can't tell a martyr how to pose just right, you know [Chorus] So let him go out like the saint in his pose What a marketable meltdown in the flannel and woes Yeah, it's such an honor, what a glamorous pain Doing every tragic cliché like the scripts all claim They didn’t want a human, just a halo in the night Pinned a Polaroid to history and said, "Yeah, that’s right" [Verse 2] Everybody’s got a prophet in the bargain-bin of myths Who traded in their body for a brand and greatest-hits Yeah, they framed the ending, then they blamed his mind But you gotta hand it to us, what a cult we signed Yeah, it’s everyday theatre, all the rumors overgrown We stack up grunge memorials while we stream him on our phones [Chorus] So let him go out like the saint in his pose What a marketable meltdown in the flannel and woes Yeah, it's such an honor, what a glamorous pain Doing every tragic cliché like the scripts all claim They didn’t want a human, just a halo in the night Pinned a Polaroid to history and said, "Yeah, that’s right" [Bridge] So raise up a glass to the myth we rewrote The ones who missed the person but they really loved the quote You can rate the disaster, you can whisper down the hall But we cashed in all his endings just to make a louder fall Yeah, we nailed it all the way We really nailed it, sure, okay We absolutely nailed it, hey [Whistling Solo] [melodic guitar feedback follows the chorus melody] [fingerpicked distortion keeps a lazy sway] [Outro] [vocals return, softer, hoarse delivery] Yeah, what a privilege, polish up the pain We hung his face on our bedrooms while we hummed the refrain Going round, going round, what a five-star show Going round, going round, critics love the glow Going round, going round, what a perfect pose Going round, going round We don’t all get the privilege or luxury of turning someone’s worst day to a brand We don’t all get the privilege or luxury of selling every wound like it was planned We don’t get the privilege or luxury of calling this wisdom when it’s clearly sold [guitars fade into tape hiss]
