Work that's never done, never fun.
Queen bee sitting on the throne.
Perhaps she watches, eyes so luring.
'Make me honey, bring me money'
Salaried little bees, none created equal;
deemed equal by the ignorant Queen.
Work is work, sight unseen.
Build her empire to lose your stinger;
Falling to death and put through the ringer.
Miracle bee, honey-less, must lead the others.
Coming together, like family, like humbled lost brothers.
Defeated bees march through the hive;
Swarming together, but barely alive.
One super bee, together they thrive.
Stage set--dim, slightly erotic;
Queen unknowing the slaves are psychotic.
She's pummeled, she's open, she's filled to the brim.
She's shocked, half-cocked, the audience grim.
The marching bees will pillage, will steal, even kill.
Stinger stolen, the queen closes her eyes.
A life full of luxury ends in demise.
Little bees working seemingly alone.
Dru, i never realized you were a writer, I like it.
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