Opeth - The Wilde Flowers

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…