manic street preachers
small black flowers that grow in the sky
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 games  want 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 sky  They drag sticks along your walls Harvest your ovaries dead mothers crawl Here comes warden, Christ, temple, elders Environment not yours you see through it all  want 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  Here chewing your tail is joy