He came 'round for the afterparty   Got a reception more than hearty   Well no wonder, here he was, our city's most prominent martyr   Who stuck needles in his arm while you and I still stuck to smarties   And who taught us all 'bout poetry and how to pick up birds   Who hung on to his pathos while other suckers saved and earned   And the underground would love him in return      He came 'round for the afterparty   Got a reception more than hearty   So he took a loop around and then he slouched into an armchair   And there was she, in a flash, like Guinevere to her King Arthur   So I closed my eyes and this is what I heard:      You sorry ass, you sorry ass   Oh! Death to the martyrs, come on, come on   You sorry ass, you sorry ass   Oh! Death to the martyrs, come on!      I remember it all clearly, I remember it precise   How he fixed me with his stare and looked me right into the eyes   Saying: "Me, I'm no machine, no, I defy the nine to five"   Now forgive me, I considered it both radical and wise   But for God's sake, I was fourteen at the time!      You sorry ass, you sorry ass   Oh! Death to the martyrs, come on, come on   You sorry ass, you sorry ass   Oh! Death to the martyrs, come on!      Now you who are so grand, who claim you built the fundaments on which I stand   You are the man, but you prefer the gentle fan I was before   But now it's time to be unkind, to speak my mind   And if you ask why I'm so blunt, it's 'cause I care for you, you cunt!    You're no longer wild at heart, you're just a boring junkie fart   And if you really wanna die, alright, then die then you old tart!   So I walked across the dancefloor until I was in his sight   And I opened up and this is what come out:      You sorry ass, you sorry ass   Oh! Death to the martyrs, come on, come on   You sorry ass, you sorry ass   Oh! Death to the martys, come on!