[Intro]
Good evening. Take your numbered seat.
The altar glows. The sponsors meet.
The hour begins with urgent drums.
Stand for the lie. The headline comes.

[Verse 1]
The anchors sit in a polished row,
Teeth lit white in the monitor glow.
One reads the facts, one shakes his head,
One asks if certainty is dead.
The lower third condemns the claim,
Then prints it twice beneath his name.
A warning scrolls, then starts to fade;
By dawn, the warning’s all that stayed.

[Pre-Chorus]
Ring the desk bell. Raise the feed.
Doubt is cheaper than a creed.
Give both sides the same bright chair—
One brings records. One brings air.

[Chorus]
Welcome to the Fake News Cathedral,
Where every doubt is made legal.
Kneel to the chyron, kiss the feed,
Repeat the line until it breeds.
In the Fake News Cathedral tonight,
Volume receives the robes of right.

[Verse 2]
A correspondent stands in driving rain,
Repeating one denial again.
Behind her, red hats fill the square;
Inside, the panel trims the air.
A scholar speaks in dates and law,
A paid adviser lifts his jaw.
The clock allows them equal time—
As though the proof and lie both rhyme.

[Choir]
What did he say?
What did he mean?
Show us the clip.
Polish the screen.
Could it be true?
Could it be fair?
Keep asking questions.
Keep him on air.

[Chorus]
Welcome to the Fake News Cathedral,
Where every doubt is made legal.
Kneel to the chyron, kiss the feed,
Repeat the line until it breeds.
In the Fake News Cathedral tonight,
Volume receives the robes of right.

[Instrumental: organ pedals, muted brass, seven-beat guitar procession]

[Bridge]
A janitor sweeps beneath the desk,
Collecting scripts no host confessed.
He reads the facts cut for the break,
“A lie does not become a side.”

[Breakdown]
No panel. No spin.
Let the record enter in.
No sponsor clock. No practiced doubt.
Speak the whole sentence. Sound it out.

[Final Chorus]
Empty the Fake News Cathedral;
Truth is not one more equal.
Lower the chyron, clear the feed,
Name the lie before it breeds.
In the Fake News Cathedral tonight,
The cameras shake beneath their light.

[Outro]
Good evening. Every screen goes black.
The printed lie keeps traveling back.
