A Hand to Take Hold of the Scene

I'm a band in a show about a man holding hands with his wife
 On a therapist's couch, with his face to the ground
 After fucking around countless nights
 And there's this one episode, close-up cameras are showing him crying
 His red head and his red eyes
 I'm a band in a show about a boy being buried alive
 From his head to his toes, by a criminal
 But with a sensitive soul, with a set of raccoon eyes
 And there's this scene in the show when a hustler knows he's gonna die
 The ground opens and he climbs inside
 And as he speaks his last line
 A thought falls from his mind, and I pick it up right through the TV
 Oh, oh
 Is there a hand to take hold of the scene?
 I'm a man in a dream and there, dancing in front of my eyes
 Is a queen formed out of flaws
 With her eyes all gone odd and a rod bolted into her spine
 She rises up like a yawn, grips my heart like a claw
 Splits apart like a jaw, like an eye
 And she asks me with a sigh
 "When we're so far from right, when we're losing the fight
 When we are letting the light weaken its beam
 Oh, oh
 Is there a hand to take hold of the scene?"
 I want a smile like a glistening shard kiss that's as sharp as a knife
 The day expires
 And the dry, cracked, trembling lips
 God saw fit to put this kiss inside
 I lift them up to you
 I'd like to bear witness to
 A light that is fine and is filling the cryingest eyes
 Grace in each face that is making the wastedest, brokenest ones fairly fly
 Love that is innocent of that old cynical, covetous, cancerous vibe
 And a beauty that annihilates all life
 Like it's lived in these nights, holding your hatred tight
 Like a sign that you're right, or you're strong
 When your doors are shut tight, I will dream you tonight
 And my dream will just sweep you along
 When all fires are fanned, when we're shucking our plans
 When we're too weak to stand on our two feet
 Oh, oh
 Is there a hand to take hold of the scene?