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