The Grip Of Disease (BBC Session Liz Kershaw 21/9/1988)

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 armor 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