Once, there was a small spider
Who lived in a mine that had caved.
It sat patiently watching
Little flies that would not be saved.
It spent its days in the darkness,
Among so much ruin and rot.
But something isn’t right here;
This isn’t what you might have thought.
The spider wasn’t evil,
The fly was not nothing but dumb.
It caught itself in the web,
And the venom made it go numb.
This fly had once been called good,
Wonderful, and clever, and bright.
But something had gone quite wrong;
It wandered away from the light.
Out came the spider, with stealth,
Eyes looking so earnest and kind.
They fancied each other friends,
But how could they both be so blind?
Their truce was not meant to last;
It was little more than a lie.
The fly wounded the spider,
And the spider wounded the fly.
Bleeding, they scurried away,
Each trying to clean up the mess.
All the old, good things now hurt;
It wasn’t the same, I’ll confess.
We can’t undo what we’ve done,
Though we’ll both continue to try.
Now I must ask you, truly:
Am I the spider or the fly?