She did remark,
In the corner of his room
A spider spinning.
In his dark art, a thought,
A poet caught
Of average room
And spider spinning.
She did remark,
In the corner of his room
A spider spinning.
In his dark art, a thought,
A poet caught
Of average room
And spider spinning.
The spider in his own web entangles,
Struggles exstatically, then slowly strangles.
The fly sucks the spider dry.
Smiling sweetly, to see him die.