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...