Sick of Breathing

Dancing Shadows.mp3

[Verse 1]
Pilgrimage in steel, a crimson creed,
Altar of war where the damned souls bleed,
No angel’s hymn, just the march of the dead,
A spiked fist writes the gospel, painted red.

[Pre-Chorus]
"Flee the Reaper" — hell’s finest joke,
Prayers are wasted when the ground’s broke,
A tank, not a storm — crush the feeble spawn,
Every swing is judgment, dawn to drawn-out dawn.

[Chorus]
Hymn of the grave, the only prayer we know,
Blood-soaked frames in the devil’s shadow,
No sprint, no flight, just tectonic wrath,
The iron apostle carves the aftermath!

[Verse 2]
Wings of fire scorch the hollowed sky,
Steel titan’s roar, the weak shall die,
No kingdom left, only ash and bone,
The reaper’s dance claims the hellborne throne.

[Pre-Chorus]
Flesh turns to psalm, the screen’s a haze,
Time bends to the slaughter, not your craze,
A century’s rage in a single night,
Pure fury’s engine — no brake, no light.

[Chorus]
Hymn of the grave, the only creed we crave,
Skull-crusher’s anthem in a nameless cave,
No speed, no spark — just the primal toll,
The war-machine’s heartbeat devours the scroll!

[Bridge]
Cursed light bleeds, the machine’s lament,
Shackled by false sheen, the engine’s bent,
They stretched the clock, but the fist stays true,
Twenty-eight hours — hell’s eternity through!

[Verse 1]
Pilgrimage in steel, a crimson creed,
Altar of war where the damned souls bleed,
No angel’s hymn, just the march of the dead,
A spiked fist writes the gospel, painted red.

[Pre-Chorus]
"Flee the Reaper" — hell’s finest joke,
Prayers are wasted when the ground’s broke,
A tank, not a storm — crush the feeble spawn,
Every swing is judgment, dawn to drawn-out dawn.

[Chorus]
Hymn of the grave, the only prayer we know,
Blood-soaked frames in the devil’s shadow,
No sprint, no flight, just tectonic wrath,
The iron apostle carves the aftermath!

[Outro]
Savior or beast? The question dies,
In the static hum of shattered cries,
No requiem, just the engine’s groan,
You are the horror. You.

[Final Chorus]
Hymn of the grave, the only prayer we know,
Blood-soaked frames in the devil’s shadow,
No sprint, no flight, just tectonic wrath,
The iron apostle carves the aftermath!

Never...Again

AllShallPerishBand

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