Text: North Atlantic Oscillation. Some Blue Hive.

:
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