Combsciety

Honey those are combs
filled to the brim
each a separate tomb
to each his own sin

buried in productivity
in a wasteful land
smoke will be penetrating
those little combs within

combs are the traps
of unending doom
produce produce produce
dig your own tomb

follow the wispy trail
to the next anenomae
flowering meadow of suns
everywhere you see

do the queens will
fatten her, starve yourself
following your society
and its mechanical hierarchy

danger comes nears
and it is clear
protect the hive
and queen so dear

for fleeing queen
sacrifice, self and life
death near it seems
from the hate filled scythe