Swarm of Bee II - Themselves

They will eat you in th crowd when your back is sof

They will eat you in the engine

Where your blood gets coughed

And it ain’t no sec…

They will pick their teeth of your meat

Ain’t no magic to the math

You sew they reap

Your just a pixel to the colour

In the number of blood types

Fixture to the duller sides of slumber and lave life

With just enough fixing’s to keep the sons of clerks

Impersonating princes

This is the unmysterious and epic tar

Of class stata at work

Below the bracket of day

Under the blood of the herd

And that’s my word

Which is all I will not brake

To stave of swarms or fates

That would have a lesser fool’d meant bent on take

But crooked ain’t my shape

I just ain’t afraid

To bare a little death on my plate…

And that’s my god degree

And I wrote this motherfucker

In a swarm of bee…