[bad word] rains upon me
With the reigns of atomic end
It doesn’t matter what I believe
Cause in the end it’s all about the means
This winds are no longer safe for breathing
They convey the fatal blow
But a vessel that special delivers
Poisson they’re flowing straight into my lungs
I should have know that it would end this way
But I was locked up shut down
Shoving it all away
I was in denial
And now know you’re all guilty too
You’re [bad word] guilty too

There’s a sickness in my body
Every pore aperture an avenue
For the life to escape it’s host
Everything I touch I leave my husk behind
Empty bones and undertones of fumes
That sear my soul I’ll repair these tarred lungs
With a drop of cyanide upon my tongue

I’m too sick to move
I’m too weak to make it through
The soil I lay upon has been polluted
With a [bad word] And I’m 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

There’s a sickness in my body
Every pore aperture an avenue
For the life to escape it’s host
Everything I touch I leave my husk behind
Empty bones and undertones of fumes
That sear my soul I’ll repair these tarred lungs
With a drop of cyanide upon my tongue

Now my lungs are failed with a creeping dose of
Bitter disgust for the world I used to [bad word]