The Spider

[tactheantidog]

How do we melt so freely into the mediocrity?
A spider, after all, must live
In his own web; who can give
Absolution in the void? What is not hypocrisy?
The spider rages, ages, dies,
Strung up with all his hapless flies

If every war is but a game, and every game is war,
Which victor’s hand will get to raise
The trophy? And to what mute praise?
Who will claim the pedestal, and reign over the gore?
The spider rages, ages, dies,
Strung up with all his hapless flies

Lately I’ve been leaning on the beauty of my friends
But simple elegance affixes
Martyrs to their crucifixes
And halfway up to heaven is where their journey ends
I know the price, I cannot pay,
Though it would steal my fear away

I’ve heard the rites of happiness, I have knelt to see
The beauty of the minutiae
Growing on a summer’s day,
But joy would be a tyrant, if it kept me on my knee;
I know the price, I cannot pay,
Though it would steal my fear away

Shun the noble prize, and the loaded starter’s gun
I know the price, I cannot pay,
Though it would steal my fear away
If there’s no truth in the web, however finely spun,
The spider rages, ages, dies,
Strung up with all his hapless flies