Some Blue Hive - North Atlantic Oscillation

When you knock on the door

With the poise of a saint

When your scarf falls away with a flick and a sway

There are suddenly reasons to wait

In a flying machine

A revelatory scene

Comes with synchronised pain and a chance to stay sane

Throwing grappling hooks 'round your waist

Some blue hive knows where we have gone

Wait for help to come

With a mouth for a gun

You’re the deadliest one

There were three in the pride and the little one died

It was weeks before someone realised

See it’s never too late

Not to rise to the bait

Not to open your eyes to the grease and the lies

To the stains on the theatre floor

Some blue hive knows where we have gone

To prowl the skies and

Wait for help to come