Hell rains upon me
With the reigns of atomic end
It doesnt matter what I believe
Cause in the end its all about the means
These winds are no longer safe for breathing
They convey the fatal blow
But a vessel that special delivers its poisons
Theyre flowing straight into my lungs
I should have known that it would end this way
But I was locked up, shut down, shoving it all away
I was in denial
And now know youre all guilty too
Youre fucking guilty
Theres a sickness in my body
Every pore, every aperture
An avenue for the life to escape its host
Everything I touch I leave my husk behind
Empty bones and undertones of fumes that sear my soul
Ill repair these tattered lungs
With a drop of cyanide upon my tongue
Im too sick to move
Im too weak to make it through
The soil I lay upon has been polluted with the truth
And Im too sick to move
Arms made of lead along with a shortness of breath
Brought on by armies of dead men
With no sense of regret
Theres a sickness in my body
Every pore, every aperture
An avenue for the life to escape its host
Everything I touch I leave my husk behind
Empty bones and undertones of fumes that sear my soul
Ill repair these tattered lungs
With a drop of cyanide upon my tongue
Now my lungs are filled with a creeping dose of bitter disgust
For the world I used to trust
The world has yet to see what can truly be unleashed
When you fuck with the intercontinental travesty
Artist: Michael Buble
Artist: Pfr
Artist: Funeral For A Friend
Artist: Emily King