Nero's Fiddle

Sick though it may seem It has always been a dream Of mine to watch you drop Like one million freezing flies Psychopathic my mathematic Always sums to zero Population, your equation always equal hero Burn, burn So the fruits of your labours Have fermented into wine And the sweat that you dripped Is now the honey of the hive The city is a burning sun And I a blooming flower The fire, the flame The passion, the power Burn, burn And you, your kindling, innocent The fruits of your labours Have fermented into wine And the sweat that you dripped Is now the honey of the hive The city is a burning sun And I a blooming flower The fire, the flame The passion, the power Burn, burn The fire, the flame The passion, the power The fire, the flame The passion, the power