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