And so it s begunThis is year oneThe birth of a child in the form of a manWrapped in towelPassed out on the floorThese drunken hours -- graces defloweredCast down by an angelShe used to kiss his weeping eyesDepressed in her bosomTears roll off her nippleSweet babydon t cry...Your tears are only alibisTo prove you still feel --You only feel sorry for yourselfWellget on that crossThat s all you re good for...And thusly it endsDepression seeps in on a lonely messiahNow he drinks with the lepersLosing a limbhis better halfA glass once half fullA head hung half-mastHe claims he s the victimStrangled by the nine-to-fiveAnd a pattern of stillnessThat haunted this still lifeYour tears are only alibisTo prove you still feelYou only feel sorry for yourselfAnd that s how you thriveYour sorrow s your goldmineSo write some sad song about meScreaming your agoniesplaying the saintThe Martyr...The Martyr....The Martyr...The Martyr...The Martyr...Oh....

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