The Martyr

And so it's begun This is year one The birth of a child in the form of a man Wrapped in towel Passed out on the floor These drunken hours -- graces deflowered Cast down by an angel She used to kiss his weeping eyes Depressed in her bosom Tears roll off her nipple Sweet baby, don't cry... Your tears are only alibis To prove you still feel -- You only feel sorry for yourself Well, get on that cross That's all you're good for... And thusly it ends Depression seeps in on a lonely messiah Now he drinks with the lepers Losing a limb, his better half A glass once half full A head hung half-mast He claims he's the victim Strangled by the nine-to-five And a pattern of stillness That haunted this still life Your tears are only alibis To prove you still feel You only feel sorry for yourself And that's how you thrive Your sorrow's your goldmine So write some sad song about me Screaming your agonies, playing the saint The Martyr... The Martyr... The Martyr... The Martyr... The Martyr... Uh huh...