Ballad of Marty Rochester

Marty wanders down Clark like a crucified
Roamer whose death is the plan
Running on fat and gasoline, with wounds in his hands
Marty is the exception to rules he
Invented then broke like thin glass
Starting cults in the north side like God of the middle class

Marty paces in circles around the
Logical track he's abused
A philosopher king whose words crush throats like a noose
Marty speaks about freedom but doesn't
See the beam lodged in his eye
For to worship's to sing the praise of palliative lies

Marty sits all alone on a throne tossing
Bones to ridiculous dogs
He's much happier there in the end



Credits
Writer(s): Robert Thomas Kessler
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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