Little thoughts like little bees
go circling and circling
and swarm around
perplex, confound
till every little quirk will ring
and clamor for attention from me
and oh did I mention one bee
is made of gold
and flies by antigravity
oh if I could just catch that bee
Guess that makes my skull the hive
but it’s not full of honey
no!
it’s full of fear of world collapse
and thoughts of making money
the system’s shot
but Marx won’t do
just how bad will
the social fabric unglue
preparing for it’s useless
of that I’m very sure
and nothing would go better
if I kept myself so pure
the consolation prize I’m stuck with
cultivate my nest of bees
and daydream somehow
it could someday
buzz the titan to its knees
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