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!