A heroine, a deitynon heroin, or vanitynTo jack their personality,nbeyond normal humanity.nA crowd of massed humanitynbow and worship diligently.nHe's built a loyal followingnand they steer him thoroughly.nnBut jealous man plots from the pews,nno need for valid righteousness.nOne slightly truthful word set free,nwill turn the tides quite easily.nOur accusations need not benwhat would bury mortal man.nThe sins of our own deity are tiny,nbut on these we stand.nnWe don't cry for the gods that die by our hands,nWe throw stones if our gods take a standnWe create and destroy our stigmata martyrs, stigmata martyrsnnSo once upon the podium,na crucifix we then erect,nAnd nail our hero heartily,nhands and feet, we bind his neck.nThe reasons for our worship fades,nour Idol drenched in his own blood,nForgotten are the virtues that we,nvalued beyond royalty.nnWe don't cry for the gods that die by our hands,nWe throw stones if our gods take a standnWe create and destroy our stigmata martyrs, stigmata martyrsnnSuch joy we dig his shallow grave,nanticipating pains to come.nWe watch the wriggling dance of death,nand laugh light hearted at death's fun.nWe pounded out the joyous light.nOur savior's buried now for years.nA legend now of time gone by,nA martyr of forgotten tears.nnWe don't cry for the gods that die by our hands,nWe throw stones if our gods take a standnWe create and destroy our stigmata martyrs, stigmata martyrsnnWe don't cry for the gods that die by our hands,nWe throw stones if our gods take a standnWe create and destroy our stigmata martyrs, stigmata martyrsnnWe don't cry for the gods that die by our hands,nWe throw stones if our gods take a standnWe create and destroy our stigmata martyrs, stigmata martyrs