The  Martyr  -  Cursive

  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...

    The  Martyr

    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...

    Oh....