The Wilde Flowers
Sun hangs high, I turn away
Failure underground
Heart is sick and fever is high
Waiting for a sound
Like a trail of insects to me
I watch them from afar
Feeding, breeding, scheming
Tell me I am wrong
Hiding from discovery
Staring down into the ground
Had they seen the posion in me
A tide of spite wound be found
Moving faster lingering gaze
Feasting on my sanity
A grain of sand against endless waves
A wish for the slaughter of conformity
Blinding light as the flames grow higher
Searing skin on a funeral pyre
Blinding light as the flames grow higher
Searing skin on a funeral pyre
Inside me sleeps a violence waiting to be freed
Blinding light as the flames grow higher
Searing skin on a funeral pyre
Blinding light as the flames grow higher
Searing skin on a funeral pyre
Blinding light and the flames grow higher
Searing skin on a funeral pyre
Should I speak and they’ll call me a liar
I’ll retreat to my funeral pyre
My sanctuary, a thousand centuries
I’m not waiting, I’m tired of waiting
I’m not waiting, I’m tired of waiting
I’m not waiting, I’m tired of waiting
I’m not waiting