Oh the tears that you weep for the poor tortured souls
Who fall at your feet with 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
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 spirit shall live on in the hearts of all lovers