Blue Collar Funeral

In a lonely cul-de-sac
Childrens' fathers push through crowds
Of single seater locomotives
What a way to die
A burning pyre of twisted guts
A coffin made of twisted metal
Puts him on page five

A working man whose name is seen
From gas stations to penthouse suites
And reflected in her eyes
The mother of his legacy
Sits motionless before the screen
And cries

Those above are cold
But the love below surrounds and warms you
In ways that you could never even know
So glory to, and behold
The blue collar funeral
The blue collar funeral

In a lowly block downtown
A little prince sits on the street
Across from him, a whirlwind heat
He watches from outside
His mother holds him close that night
He wakes up to the first ray of sunshine

Those above are cold
But the love below surrounds and warms you
In ways that you could never even know
So glory to, and behold
The blue collar funeral
The blue collar funeral
The blue collar funeral

(Bring it round one more time)