Martyrs And Madmen.

Random faces populate dark pockets of my brain,
lonely tortured heroes with dark eyes all full of pain.
People crying out for blood to keep them entertained,
I can't hold back no more, I can't keep anything contained.

I'm captured, excited, so scared I'm sinking...
the silence, I'm frightened, I can't help thinking 
of those martyrs and madmen, they were rebels in their day;
then the world made them sad men, because it wouldn't go away.

Martyrs and madmen, hey, those martyrs and madmen.

Now I'm tempted by the game, I'm thrown into the ring
and if I turn like they did, I must do everything
to stop myself from turning into someone I don't know,
sitting in some hotel room, with fires down below.

I'm captured, excited, so scared I'm sinking...
the silence, I'm frightened, I can't help thinking 
of those martyrs and madmen; they were rebels in their day,
and the world made them sad men, because it wouldn't go away.

Martyrs and madmen, yeah, those martyrs and madmen.

Now listen - there's no escape in alcohol, or in needles, straws and spoons.
The only saving grace is someone breaking the cocoon.
Were they destined to die lonely, was it all some master-plan?
To hope that in some twenty years someone might understand?

Oh, martyrs and madmen, yeah, martyrs and madmen.

Where did you go? Are you watching us now?

Words and music by Steve G Swindells (c) Copyright Control. All rights reserved.