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 a 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 was 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