The son asks what to do in life, become a policeman, a doctor, postman or a fan of a stupid actor. What´s with you mum?, he asks. I look down hill, realize my biographie, there´s nothing special what i have done, worked my ass off for money, people, civil laws.
Suddenly an idea come to me, like a small wing of a butterfly, like wind goes through trees like they fly around the bees. Become a queen, become a queen bee.
He! I need a crown, a stick, an apple, not a silly macintosh, just a real good apple and some wings. I´m gonna tell everybody what to do. I´m gonna tell everybody what to do. I keep the most delicious money in my safe. Feel good, cause i can afford, fly around with an escort, to beautiful bloom, which grow greatful into the height.
Bees knee down, kiss my ass, I become nice less and less. Haaaaa ha, a queen bee.
Great thougt, 5 seconds later, i get bored. Better live a cavelife, instead bouncing with wings, pretending strange way of power, better i take a cold shower, which freeze me to death.