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• Artiste: Mission, The
• Titre: Grip Of Disease
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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 cries alone 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 Risen 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 so tear this mask away 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