Death is promised to the bee who's sting protects the colony. 
Was it's life worth nothing more than honey for the queen? 
Life is a branch and it is a dove, handcrafted by confusing love. 
Sign language is our reply, when church beels make no sound. 
In hollow towers and empty hives, we craved sweetness with a fear of heights. 
Was it all just a grain of sand in and hourglass? 

The smartest thing i've ever learned is that i don't have all the answers, 
just a little light to call my own. 
Though it pales [bad word] to the overarching shadows, 
a speck of light can reignite the sun and swallow darkness whole. 

Death is a cold, blindfolded kiss. 
It is the finger pressed upon our lips. 
It puts an unwanted emphasis on how we should have lived. 
Life is a gorgeous, broken gift. 
Six billion+ pieces waiting to be fixed. 
Love letters that were never signed, sent to where we live. 

But the sweetest thing i've ever heard is that i don't have to have the answers, 
just a little light to call my own. 
Though it pales [bad word] to the overarching shadows, 
a speck of light can reignite the sun and swallow darkness whole.