You have your very own number
They dress your cage in its nature
Once you roared now you just grunt lame
Pace around pathetic pound gameswant to get out won't miss you sensaround
To carry your own dead to swing your tyre tricks
want to get out in here you're bred dead quick
For the outside
The small black flowers that grow in the skyThey drag sticks along your walls
Harvest your ovaries dead mothers crawl
Here comes warden, Christ, temple, elders
Environment not yours you see through it allwant to get out won't miss you sensaround
Carry your own dead to swing your tyre tricks
want to get out in here you're bred dead quick
For the outside
The small black flowers that grow in the sky
Songwriters
BRADFIELD/EDWARDS/JONES/MOOREPublished by
Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC Song Discussions is protected by U.S. Patent 9401941. Other patents pending.