My Hands Are Made Of Spite
by Ceremony· from Violence Violence
There's a conflict being fought,
which weighs us down as we ignore it.
You can taste it on our tongue
feel it burning through our skin,
solutions can take away the years,
still it lingers in the air we breathe.
Trying to escape the past
each second sucks blood out of me.
Forced to wear all my misfortunes
Grow up like a modern man,
still I can't find time to made amends.
Such a hopeless wreck
swearing with a spited tongue
everything I gave out, I am getting back.
When I die, I'll burn in hell.
Resting in a bed of sins.