| Sun hangs high, I turn away
|
| Failure underground
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| 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 |