Hollow abyss of the deep cliff, into the distance the moon shines bright wind caressing the fresh green grass, festive fireflies. beating against the rocks below, white bubbles arise, darkened spots in the starry sky, the end is to arrive.
There's this spider I know. He sits on my lips, Weaving webs of pure silk. To trap in my lies... ...those little black flies.. For what horror would ensue should one but slip. What havoc I'd wreak Upon my web of silk... ...now oh so weak. For there is never just one. Now there's a hole!
And out they would swarm! A cloud thick as smoke.
Oh those little black flies.... They'd be my demise... Should one but slip. I could choke.