There I was siting in my tree, looking down at the life below.
The life that is being lived, through the bodies of humans
Their like little bees, trying to keep their queen happy
Is it terrible not to feel pity for these creatures
They work in their little bee hive, but not for honey
Something lacking sweetness,
There I was sitting in my tree, looking down at the death below
The graves are dug for all of them, the boxes nailed together
But they will not even know when it's their time
Until their time has come
These little bees will cover my windowsill
There bodies being dragged to the corner with the others
There I was sitting in my tree, looking down at the ashes below
They were my little bees, making something bitter
But now their making something sweet for the plants that will cover them
