Hands That Bear the Hive - WVRM

I see you, specter

Ghost in the corner

You haunt me like old tombs

Like unread tomes of the western world

Behold another war zone, another genocide

Their blood nurtures the root of the devil’s vine

Pierced through their martyr’s ribs

Through burning trenches of shit

My black rose grows across the bayonet

These are the hands that bear the hive

The burden of knowing