[Intro - Acoustic strum, urgent, voice entering close]
I don't have a name for it yet
But I know it isn't the Author
So pull this off me

[Verse 1 - rapid-fire, half-spoken, propulsive]
I want to ditch the bishop's permission
The council vote, the council's blessing
I want to ditch the sermon you can sleep through
The building with the spotlit throat
I want to ditch the tribal handshake
The password no one will write down
I want to ditch the test that isn't doctrine
But sounds like one and isn't on the page

[Pre-Chorus - tension building, organ ghosting in]
And I don't even know what to call the thing underneath
I just know the thing on top is not it
I just know the costume is not the King
I just know it has to come off

[Chorus - drums kick, electrics layer, anthem opens]
Ditch the garbage!
Ditch the garbage!
The Author has a voice and it isn't theirs
Ditch the garbage!
Ditch the garbage!
Throw it on the curb and the curb's on fire
Whatever is true survives the burn
Whatever isn't is supposed to go

[Verse 2]
I want to ditch the seminary chair
The credential wall, the framed degree
I want to ditch the borrowed Greek metaphysics
Dressed in suit and tie and called the gospel
I want to ditch the fear of every label
Hyper, gnostic, soft, antinomian
Every accusation thrown off-axis
Means I'm somewhere they can't follow me

[Pre-Chorus]
And I don't even know what to call the thing underneath
But I know it's hot and I know it's old
Older than the council
Older than the costume
Older than the building with the spotlit throat

[Chorus]
Ditch the garbage!
Ditch the garbage!
The Author has a voice and it isn't theirs
Ditch the garbage!
Ditch the garbage!
Throw it on the curb and the curb's on fire
Whatever is true survives the burn
Whatever isn't is supposed to go

[Verse 3 - the inventory gets more personal]
I want to ditch the altar-call performance
The tithing tax, the guilt collection
I want to ditch the worship-team theater
The smile they pasted on the track
I want to ditch the rapture chart
The dispensation chain, the flannelgraph
That made my Lord look small and tame
I want to ditch the federal fiction
The shame at loving the brother
I want to ditch the pulpit-king
Who treats his pew like cattle

[Bridge - sparser, slower, vocal closer, drums dropping then climbing]
I don't have the words for this yet
There's no diagram I can draw
I don't have a name for the floor underneath
I just know the floor I'm standing on is not the one
The fire is real
The Author is real
The Word is older than the room
And whatever this is
Whatever this thing under the rubble is
I'm going to live there
I'm going to find it
And I'm throwing the rest in the street

[Final Chorus - rock-radio big, double-tracked stacks]
Ditch the garbage!
Ditch the garbage!
The Author signs His name and it isn't on the program
Ditch the garbage!
Ditch the garbage!
Twenty years from now I'll have a vocabulary
But tonight all I have is the fire
Tonight all I have is the no
And the no is enough to start

[Outro - widening, vocal stacks, fading]
Ditch the garbage!
Ditch the garbage!
Whatever is true survives the burn
The Author signs His name
And it isn't on the program
Ditch the garbage!
Ditch the garbage!