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The Wilde Flowers

Sun hangs high, I turn away

Failure underground

Heart is sick and fever is high

Waiting for a soundLike a trail of insects to me

I watch them from afar

Feeding, breeding, scheming

Tell me I am wrongHiding from discovery

Staring down into the ground

Had they seen the posion in me

A tide of spite wound be foundMoving faster lingering gaze

Feasting on my sanity

A grain of sand against endless waves

A wish for the slaughter of conformityBlinding light as the flames grow higher

Searing skin on a funeral pyre

Blinding light as the flames grow higher

Searing skin on a funeral pyreInside me sleeps a violence waiting to be freedBlinding light as the flames grow higher

Searing skin on a funeral pyre

Blinding light as the flames grow higher

Searing skin on a funeral pyreBlinding 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 pyreMy 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

Songwriters

Mikael AkerfeldtPublished by

Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd. Song Discussions is protected by U.S. Patent 9401941. Other patents pending.

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