Sometimes I feel just like Jesus Christ
|
Nailed to the cross, betrayed and crucified
|
A crown of thorns cutting into my skin
|
A palace and a throne and a kingdom of my own
|
Knights in armour and courtesans, maids in waiting with blood on their hands
|
The king's white throne(?) can't get blood from a stone
|
|
I'm falling, into the arms of Nemesis
|
I'm falling, into the grip of disease
|
|
Cold comfort is success and I can feel my blood freeze
|
Reason with the dust and blown away by the breeze
|
How cruel the stars, that shine so hard
|
|
I'm falling, into the arms of Nemesis
|
I'm falling, into the grip of
|
|
Disease
|
|
Attend his masquerader(?) and all I ever need is the truth
|
But the truth of it all is that there's no truth at all
|
Like the truth of the cry from the new born child
|
So why? Just tell me why, does Jesus cry?
|
|
I'm falling, into the arms of Nemesis
|
I'm falling, into the grip of disease
|
I'm falling, into the arms of Nemesis
|
I'm falling, into the grip of disease
|
|
Disease, disease, disease
|
|
-----------------
|
The Grip Of Disease
|
| Mission U.K. |
