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...