To die for your ideas, an excellent idea
One time I almost died for lack of having it
When all the teeming hordes who had it before me
Ran screaming to my door in a murderous fit
My muse eventually caved in to their request
Lamenting her mistakes, she rallied for their cause
With just a whisper of regret giving her pause
Let’s die for our ideas, but make it a slow death
OK, make it a slow, slow death

Seeing as we are free to linger in this life
Let’s take our own sweet time reaching the afterglow
For, if we hurry up, we might actually die
For an idea that’s out of fashion tomorrow
Yet, if there’s one thing sure to make you feel depressed
It is to realize upon your dying day
That you took the wrong path, that you made a mistake
Let’s die for our ideas, but make it a slow death
OK, make it a slow, slow death

The fundamentalists who cry the martyr’s cry
Are usually the ones who linger on this earth
To die for their ideals, for whatever it’s worth
Is their main obsession, it motivates their life
In almost every camp, every holy domain
These are the ones who will outlive Methuselem
Which leads me to conclude their favorite refrain’s
Let’s die for our ideas, but make it a slow death
OK, make it a slow, slow death

Ideas which demand the famous sacrifice
Are endlessly revived by sects of every stripe
And every new victim wonders before he dies
To die for an idea is lovely, but which type?
And since they’re all about the same in most respects
The wise man, when he sees their mighty banners wave
Will always hesitate, as he sidesteps the grave
Let’s die for our ideas, but make it a slow death
OK, make it a slow, slow death

If a few killing fields, a few communal graves
Were all it took to do the trick once and for all
With all the nights of terror, all the heads that fall
You’d think by now the whole world would be saved
Alas, the golden age is constantly delayed
The gods are thirsty yet, they’re never satisfied
So death and death resumes, and still more people die
Let’s die for our ideas, but make it a slow death
OK, make it a slow, slow death

Oh all you firebrands, all you fishers of men
Please be the first to die, we’ll get out of your way
But, for the love of god, let the rest of us live
Life is the last luxury left us anyway
The reaper is a crafty type and needs no help
No need to speed his work by sharpening his blade
So stop your dance of death, you’re only giving aid
Let’s die for our ideas, but make it a slow death
OK, make it a slow, slow death