Текст песни The Fall of Mr. Fifths - WHY?

Just another Sunday
Paddle-boat ride
On a man-made lake
With another lady stranger.
If I remain lost and die on a cross,
At least I wasn't born in a manger.
I can sense, somewhere right
Now I'm being prayed for.
Seems like I always arrive
At the same shore
From where my sails set
Maybe with one less lady
Than my vessel left with.
Is that a threat?

Oh, I've stayed scarce
This past year, yes.
But be assured in unrest:
I'm unavoidable, like death
This Christmas. Is this twisted?
Why be upset? I never said I
Didn't have syphilis,
Miss Listless -- Hard like the
Bricks I pound my fists with.
I mean, she's hard like the bricks
That I pound with my fists.
This is "The fall of Mr. Fifths,
Forged for the hordes
And the ladies and lords,
Set with fat chords
In modern English.

I know, I know,
There's nothing more appealing
Than the sound of high heels
Down the marble tile hallways
Of your districts one alloted
City-funded Steiner school,
Bilingual or Montessori,
Followed by a single
High-pitched scream,
Followed by breaking glass.
But could your anger be mapped
Into an interpretive dance
To a trip-hop track? Could it be
Bowed out on strings?
Or strung into a pattern for a God's eye to bring
To your alma-mater's holiday
Fundraiser boutique thing?