Won't you weave a web for me, sweet spider?
Sorceress won't you deign to dance
won't you twirl here, dizzy with me?
won't you tie the red threads fast?

Little spider, little weaver
sultry shade of fire and ash
doesn't it feel like falling
when those thin red threads snap?

And isn't it so strangely enthralling
when your scent, like an asp
curls and winds itself about me
and when it bites, I cringe and gasp

Light headed, here I sway and stumble
venom like wine, but burning, flows
and drunken, doting on you only, mumble
with bloody hands groping the rose

With thorns like crowns and battle-ready
the coal-hot liquor in thinning red veins
itching, burning, in circles turning, heady
that distillation of those curvaceous fangs

Silk fiber and silk song
pluck the strings, little mistress
play your songs on my solemnity
smear the foam with your kisses

And dance with me now while the red threads are vital
Life is an experience, those who live lie not idle.