The lair is set

The mouths are wet

Dripping from an acid tounge

While whipping bile from a mile

 

Down the corridor

Words are whispered and murmuered

Plotting, scheming, stoking the fire

Such dangerous tounges should not be hired

 

Far away, in the Hive is where they thrive

Eloping from the danger of what's to come

Team splitting is a speciality

If only they could drop all formality

 

"Come down, be sociable", I'm told

But lingering doubts keep me unsold

To stay the course or go with the stream?

To flow away from what I believe?

 

A new hierarchy could come one day

If only they could find a way