Small Black Flowers That Grow In The Sky
Manic Street Preachers Lyrics


Jump to: Overall Meaning ↴  Line by Line Meaning ↴

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

Overall Meaning

The Manic Street Preachers' song Small Black Flowers That Grow In The Sky is a poignant reflection on captivity and the loss of free will. The lyrics open with a statement of individuality, "you have your very own number," but the next line reveals that even this claim to uniqueness is negated by those who "dress your cage in its nature." The verse then goes on to contrast the passive, "grunting" existence of the caged creature with its former, more vital state when it "roared." The "pathetic pound games" refer to the grim routine of life in an animal shelter, a hopeless round of pacing, futile yearning and repetitive behavior.


The chorus, "want to get out won't miss you sensaround," expresses the desire for escape from the numbing surroundings, the urge to break out from the deadening routine that imprisons the creature. The lines "to carry your own dead to swing your tyre tricks / want to get out in here you're bred dead quick" suggest the total futility of life in captivity and the constant risk of death. The reference to "tyre tricks" also implies that the creature's behavior has become little more than a circus act for the amusement of onlookers.


The second verse of Small Black Flowers That Grow In The Sky continues this sense of entrapment with the "sticks" that "drag" along the walls and the "dead mothers" that are "harvested" for their "ovaries." These images convey a sense of industrialized captivity in which life is reduced to a cruel commodity. The final lines of the verse, "warden, Christ, temple, elders / environment not yours you see through it all," suggest a pervasive sense of powerlessness and alienation. The chorus is repeated, with its desire for escape and the haunting image of the "small black flowers that grow in the sky" serving as a symbol of hope, a reminder of the possibilities of freedom and of the beauty of life beyond the cage.


Line by Line Meaning

You have your very own number
You are just another statistic in the system


They dress your cage in its nature
You are confined to your predetermined role in society


Once you roared now you just grunt lame
You used to have passion, but now you feel defeated


Pace around pathetic pound games
You are trapped in an unfulfilling routine


want to get out won't miss you sensaround
You want to escape your current situation and not be affected by its sensory overload


To carry your own dead to swing your tyre tricks
You bear the burden of your own mistakes and try to distract yourself with trivial activities


want to get out in here you're bred dead quick
You feel that you are becoming lifeless by staying in your current environment


For the outside
You yearn for a life beyond the confines of your current situation


The small black flowers that grow in the sky
The beauty of life exists beyond our immediate surroundings


They drag sticks along your walls
Your oppressors taunt and provoke you


Harvest your ovaries dead mothers crawl
Society takes advantage of the vulnerable and exploits their reproductive capabilities


Here comes warden, Christ, temple, elders
Authority figures actively maintain the oppressive system


Environment not yours you see through it all
You recognize that the society you are in is not built for you and you can't identify with it


Here chewing your tail is joy
People derive pleasure from causing harm to others




Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Written by: JAMES BRADFIELD, NICHOLAS JONES, RICHARD EDWARDS, SEAN MOORE

Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
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