Depeche Mode

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
They'll always be failures
Alms for the poor
For the wretched desciples
And the love that they swore
With their hearts on the bible
Beseeching the honor
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 spirit shall live on in