Every Time I Die - Emergency Broadcast Syndrome lyrics

Position the phantom rigged in reflective tape. Situated like a makeshift antenna, grinning like tinfoil. We're losing reception. we can't pick up the game. I should be discontinued. I am a broadcasting embarrasment. Hiss like the damned. Decoding the transmitted pulse that dispatch from her lips. I am not recieving a sign that says I am still here anymore. Do you hear me? Am I coming through at all? Is any of this making sense? You've got a ghost on your hands. A televisual image only partially clear. Scrambled phantom (I wish we'd all just stop talking at once). Spitting and cursing from the scrapheap we're on. You should have lost your cool.