A Creeping Dose Lyrics
| Song | A Creeping Dose |
| Artist | In Fear & Faith |
| Album | A Creeping Dose |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| Hell 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 | |
| These winds are no longer safe for breathing | |
| They convey the fatal blow | |
| But a vessel that special delivers its poisons, | |
| 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 all fucking guilty | |
| There’s a sickness in my body | |
| Every pore, every 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 tattered 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 the truth | |
| 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, every 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 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 |
| Hell 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 | |
| These winds are no longer safe for breathing | |
| They convey the fatal blow | |
| But a vessel that special delivers its poisons, | |
| 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 all fucking guilty | |
| There' s a sickness in my body | |
| Every pore, every 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 tattered 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 the truth | |
| 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, every 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 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 |
| Hell 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 | |
| These winds are no longer safe for breathing | |
| They convey the fatal blow | |
| But a vessel that special delivers its poisons, | |
| 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 all fucking guilty | |
| There' s a sickness in my body | |
| Every pore, every 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 tattered 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 the truth | |
| 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, every 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 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 |
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