Oh, the tears that you weep For the poor tortured souls Who fall at your feet With all their love begging bowls All the clerks and the tailors The sharks and the sailors All good at their trades, but They'll always be failures
Alms for the poor For the wretched disciples And the love that they swore With their hearts on the bible Beseeching the honour To sit at your table And feast on your holiness As long as they're able
Love needs its martyrs, needs its sacrifices They live for your beauty and pay for their vices Love will be the death of my lonely soul brothers But their spirits shall live on in the hearts of all lovers
You're holding court With your lips and your smile Your body's a halo Their minds are on trial Sure as Adam is Eve Sure as Jonah turned whaler They're crooked love thieves And you are their jailor
Love needs its martyrs, needs its sacrifices They live for your beauty and pay for their vices Love will be the death of my lonely soul brothers But their spirits shall live on in the hearts of all lovers