A light in the hive, fueled by the fear of death.
Transfixed in the process of plotting humanity.
A light in the hive, bright in the fire of death.
Conspicuously trite aims well beyond commodity.
Walking into traps you spent aeons uncovering.
"Where does a snake crawl once its skin is shed?"
The urgency is nothing but fear of not reading your name in print
"The burden of the perfect life, the burden of the best illusion."
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