crown of thorns

baby, i feel a bit like Jesus
hung up, senseless
strung up, useless
sick enough to admit i'd do it again
not a question of how, just a matter of when

i'll weave your thorns into a crown
i'll pull you down over my brow
you say, 'this pain's getting to be an old story.'
i say, 'baby, so are we,
but the rose that grows from our sunless soil never smelled so sweet.'

baby, i feel a bit like Judas
greedy, remorseless
betrayal in my kiss
slaying my pride to stay at your side
wolf in sheep's clothing, crucified

i'll weave your thorns into a crown
i'll pull you down over my brow
you say, 'this pain's getting to be an old story.'
i say, 'baby, so are we,
but the rose that grows from our sunless soil never smelled so sweet.'

to give out, to give up, to give in
i am willing
to give-
my kingdom for a crown