Emergency Broadcast Syndrome Lyrics - Last Night In Town - Every Time I Die

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 receiving 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. 

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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. 

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