(K.J.Garside / C.Gray)
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There is an anger comes off this girl,
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That she can't find an origin,
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The things I plant won't grow,
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Yet the wild weeds flower in wind and snow.
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Nothing to be nothing to prove,
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Nowhere to go nothing to lose.
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When will my season come,
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Was I born of infertile soil,
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Is my seed without song,
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Can I not see the woods for these forests in my head,
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Can I not see the sunlight as I play dead?
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Nothing to be nothing to prove,
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Nowhere to go nothing to lose.
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Weeds
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| Queen Adreena |
