My Hands Are Made Of Spite

There's a conflict being fought that weighs us down as we ignore it
We 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 make 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