Sometimes she walks like a spider,
Reaching out before her foot touches the ground,
Sometimes she'll suck on a victim,
But only if nobody else is around,
There's an egg sac tucked into the corner,
Full of millions of her squirming dreams,
Sometimes she rubs it and whispers,
I can't yet interpret what that means,
Sometimes it feels like we're all dancing
On the strands of her web that stick us fast,
And sometimes she will notice us,
But the kiss, and the poison, never last,
Sometimes she walks like a spider,
Is she hunting or is she hiding from someone?
I doubt that she'll ever stop weaving
Until she's hatched her dreams, every squirming one.