| As we creep along
|
| The beat from our wings keeps us humming
|
| To the buzz of our hives requiem
|
| This comb will rot away
|
| Our queen is filled with eggs
|
| And thats just the worker instinctively feeding me
|
| So if these beasts wants something sweet some may go down after the sting
|
| We’ve raped the nectar from patches deep
|
| 'Cause if it tastes like honey then it must be sweet
|
| We’re working hard one hundred and fifty-four
|
| Trips to shit out just a few teaspoons
|
| Of our delicious excrement
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| So sing along to our queens five year epilogue
|
| For the end of her breeding days
|
| Regurgitate
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| All the shit that we ate
|
| 'Cause if it tastes like honey then it must be sweet
|
| Don’t you mind the fact you’re not breathing?
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| Just keep feeding the ones we’ll be needing
|
| Don’t you mind the fact you’re not breathing?
|
| Just keep feeding the ones we’ll be needing
|
| We keep flying off
|
| But we crawl right back
|
| Yeah we crawl right back back
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| We crawl right back
|
| We keep flying off
|
| But we crawl right back
|
| 'Cause when you’re this small! |
| (anything can crush you)
|
| 'Cause when you’re this bored! |
| (anything can crush you)
|
| 'Cause when you’re this small! |
| (anything can crush you)
|
| Heres a glass for a colony greater than death
|
| My blistered hands my blistered hands they soak
|
| Heres a glass for a colony greater than death
|
| My blistered hands my blistered hands
|
| We’re working hard one hundred and fifty-four
|
| Trips to shit out just a few teaspoons
|
| We’re working hard one hundred and fifty-four
|
| Trips to shit out just a few teaspoons |