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