Death To The Martyrs

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 arms 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 then he took a loop around and then he slouched into an armchair

And there was she, yeah 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 martys, 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 martys, come on!



Now you who are so grand, who claim you built the fundaments on which I stand

You are the man, but you preferred 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!