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Martyr without a cause, stripped of all my pride.
The same pride they won't let me lay down and die.
Alone exposed to the bone, stripped of all my skin.
The same skin I been hiding myself in.
Plagued with thorns in my side, age showed by scars in my mind.

You've never laid in the beds that I've made.
Don't tell me about being afraid.
You've never died the ways that I've died.
What do you know about speaking to God?
You've never roamed the homes that I've roamed,
using your body to shield your soul.

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