| The Hive |
|---|
| April night-tyme |
| And we run like muscles through the stagnant nodes of man |
| Blood-bridges lean towards the gaping synapses |
| to disarm the stars within us Hornet Hive-dark |
| Severed wings in vainless beating |
| buzz out from an inferno of fangs |
| to disarm the stars within us We should have been |
| so much more by now |
| Too dead inside |
| to even know the guilt |
| Waining Ring-deep |
| a halo of thorns |
| Sips now down in sheets of sharp silver |
| to disarm the strs within us We should have been |
| so much more by now |
| Too dead inside |
| to even know the guilt |
