evil spun a web beneath my kitchen table

ring around the rosey pockets full of posey ashes ashes we all fall down
let the children sing
let them sing of what they do not know

as four wise grandfather longlegs tremble and creak in a conspirated snare
trapped by their own medium of death
hissed lies
deceits
prejudice
malice
they are withered like cracked bones
and crumpled like rejected love letters

their younger brother howls in glee over his feast of disparity
laughs and weaves his web
laughs and binds them with sin

weaving
laughing
binding
sing children sing

sing