The Grip Of Disease (BBC Live Previously Unreleased Wembley Arena 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, 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 a 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