The Wilde Flowers - Opeth

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 poison 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