The raging of the bees, the bees, the bees, of ill temper they tell, as they swarm and buzz, buzz as if in hell, the rage and the swarm goes onwards on, to the heat of the rising sun, they come, as heat pounds down, their wings flap, and it is dark below, as the war is dark, humming across the wheat that is shewn, the evils of weeds, they come, the bees.