On Martyrs

Here's what I ended up with, Jim:

When I think of my love for you

It’s like staring right into the sun

Maybe we only really see

When the story’s finished up and done

Loving you is as bottomless

As a dark infinity

Martyrs die for love, my dear

But your love will be the death of me

My heart’s spitted on a stake

Burning with a clear, undying flame

Ashes rise up into the air

Spelling out the letters of your name

Oh you are my true lode star

You’re my only destiny

Martyrs die for love, my dear

But your love will be the death of me

Poor old Saint Bartholomew had his

Skin flayed off him while he lived

Anthony was stabbed so many times

That he started leaking like a sieve

Saints embrace their suffering
And that suff’ring makes them free

Martyrs die for love, my dear

But your love will be the death of me