The Wilde Flowers
Sun hangs high, I turn awayFailure undergroundHeart is sick and fever is highWaiting for a sound
Like a trail of insects to meI watch them from afarFeeding, breeding, schemingTell me I am wrong
Hiding from discoveryStaring down into the groundHad they seen the posion in meA tide of spite wound be found
Moving faster lingering gazeFeasting on my sanityA grain of sand against endless wavesA wish for the slaughter of conformity
Blinding light as the flames grow higherSearing skin on a funeral pyreBlinding light as the flames grow higherSearing skin on a funeral pyre
Inside me sleeps a violence waiting to be freed
Blinding light as the flames grow higherSearing skin on a funeral pyreBlinding light as the flames grow higherSearing skin on a funeral pyre
Blinding light and the flames grow higherSearing skin on a funeral pyreShould I speak and they'll call me a liarI'll retreat to my funeral pyre
My sanctuary, a thousand centuriesI'm not waiting, I'm tired of waitingI'm not waiting, I'm tired of waitingI'm not waiting, I'm tired of waitingI'm not waiting