There was a flower walking alleys,
I was a drunken bee sipping her honey.
Someone said to me her buzz is a little funny.
She did her dance and there’s more to follow,
Pollinate the world and do not wallow
Pity is something she doesn’t like to swallow.
Another bee told me if love was our sting
It would kill us, I replied – how shall I sting?
I’m ready to die; death is what this lust shall bring.
And I’ll sing my mournful song.
Ever masochistically turned on
as love fades with the dawn.