Twice now these persistent tiny ants, smaller than pinheads -- as small, in fact, as the multitude of angels said to dance there have invaded my honey bottle scaling somehow the smooth glass cliff and slipping in the gaps of the cork: How do they know there's honey inside? Giving their lives, hundreds of them, to the sweet rich sea promised them from infancy [Dreamy Chorus] (stories of honey mountain, honey island; sleep-lulling mother voices nights in the ant hill). They are dutiful, these ants, faithfully streaming where nature tells them, go and seek: you'll get your rewards in the end. I thought my honey imperceptible, inviolable in its narrow-necked bottle, tightly corked, high on a shelf, my private hive. Yet I was mistaken, two times, massively wrong, to judge by the body count: ants drowned in an ocean of bliss. the bee-gifted sea, forbidden honey fields. [Dreamy Chorus] (stories of honey mountain, honey island; sleep-lulling mother voices nights in the ant hill). What do you do with competing compulsions, wildly distant, mine to hoard, theirs to board, ceaselessly searching the infinite dinner? I cannot keep them out. No matter how I hide my secret sweetness, these tiny desires insist on finding their way in. [Dreamy Chorus] (stories of honey mountain, honey island; sleep-lulling mother voices nights in the ant hill). I cannot keep them out. No matter how I hide my secret sweetness, these tiny desires insist on finding their way in.
