beekeeper

here comes the beekeeper, with her pitcher full of smoke, she'll put us all to sleep, i hope it's dreamless and it's deep, sweet prometheus, come home, they took away our fire, and all that this scarcity promotes, is desperate men and tyrants, what fine design, what hands, what minds, the envy of eden, our tools and our reason, it's clear in the animals eyes, we stand, upright, build fires, at night, made on the sixth day, to rest on the seventh, and now we just try to survive, the surgeon and farmer meet, and each greets the other with a bow, they're kindred instruments, you know, the scalpel and the plow, in the shadow of the mountain, we work when work abounds, and we wear out all our prayers, when the work runs out, what fine design, what hands, what minds, the envy of eden, our tools and our reason, it's clear in the animals eyes, we stand, upright, build fires, at night, made on the sixth day, to rest on the seventh, and now we just try to survive