[Intro - emergency broadcast, distorted choir] Twenty billion breathing. Twenty billion bleeding. Point-zero-zero-one percent can keep the kings alive. TYPE S. [Verse 1 - cold, mechanical] They thought it was an error, a stain beneath the glass. Some freak result in hematology, an anomaly in science class. Then the fever crossed the oceans. Then the red rain hit the streets. Airborne blood and weeping sores, whole cities on their knees. And buried in the old reports, one little letter held the key. S. [Pre-Chorus - rising] Find them. Guard them. Get them underground. Every drop is worth a country now. [Chorus - huge, chantable] TYPE S! TYPE S! HOLY BLOOD! HOLY FLESH! Raise your hands! Bless the vein! One sacred shot and you might live again! TYPE S! TYPE S! LET THE WHOLE WORLD SEE! Twenty billion beggars for the blood of royalty! [Verse 2 - driving industrial beat] They fly them fortress to fortress, black glass, armored cars. Billionaires kiss their fingers. Presidents call them stars. Government bunkers open. Private islands clear the sky. While the poor cough blood in stadiums and cheer as they fly by. Red carpets. White coats. Cameras at the gate. Everybody loves a savior when the cure comes much too late. [Chorus] TYPE S! TYPE S! HOLY BLOOD! HOLY FLESH! Raise your hands! Bless the vein! One sacred shot and you might live again! TYPE S! TYPE S! LET THE WHOLE WORLD SEE! Twenty billion beggars for the blood of royalty! [Verse 3 - carnival rhythm, increasingly deranged] Friday night prime time: ONE DOSE TO GIVE! Three hundred million viewers watch to see who gets to live. Spin the wheel! Answer right! Tell us why your life has worth! A mother with three children versus the smartest boy on Earth. ...One syringe beneath the spotlight.... [Announcer - ecstatic] WHO WANTS ANOTHER YEAR? [Breakdown - half-time, ugly and heavy] Bleeding eyes. Open sores. Bodies stacked outside the doors. But when the limo rolls through, they crawl up off the floor. They wave. They pray. They scream their names. Fucking paparazzi. [Bridge - eerie, almost beautiful] They used to ask for autographs. Now they ask for plasma. A little red salvation sealed behind armored glass. [Final Chorus - explosive] TYPE S! TYPE S! HOLY BLOOD! HOLY FLESH! Raise your hands! Bless the vein! One sacred shot and you might live again! TYPE S! TYPE S! LET THE WHOLE WORLD SEE! Twenty billion beggars for the blood of royalty! TYPE S! TYPE S! Point-zero-zero-one percent! [Outro - broadcast voice breaking apart] Twenty billion breathing. Nineteen billion bleeding. ...one syringe beneath the spotlight...
