|
We are ants living in a hill,
Coordinated motion, never still:
The hive alone has purpose that is real.
I want to be a good little ant
A part of something better, but I can’t:
So much hatred, pride, and greed I feel.
An ant is nothing by itself you see,
The hill is greater than its parts can be:
An ant can’t sing, just squeak, so I do squeal.
|