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...