The Four Fliesman of their Own Apocalypse.

Safe. Humble home.
Drowsy future. A restless tome.
Silent beat of the night.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. 

A Maverick toward the tower.
Four imposers to the power
Silent must be the fight.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Little light. Little view.
Weapons of choice are few.
Douglas Adams would be proud.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Flee to the feel of air.
A place to die is there.
Two almost makes a crowd.
Buzz. Buzz.

Water kills as well as cotton.
Your choice of refuge ill gotten.
 Sleep in the Irish Spring.
Buzz.

Stalked to the door of freedom
So ends the bloodly scrum.
The sounds of silence ring.
.....