Caught in the veil
of illusion,
can’t move,
Great Spider’s closing in,
closing in.

Stuck in the web
hanging on
by a thread
but still suspended,
still suspended.

But it’s all momentary.
We’ll all be gone
when the wind picks up.
We’ll all be gone
when the wind picks up.

We’re weaving,
spinning, swinging
in a corner,
knowing soon we’ll fall
and it could be over,
could be over.

But it’s all momentary.
We’ll all be gone
when the wind picks up.
We’ll all be gone
when the wind picks up.

One world
cast upon another.
Can you point me
to the center?

How we long to see
how it all turns out
before we turn in.

Give us one more orbit
turning out, now turning in.
Turning out, now turning in.
Turning out, now turning in,
now turning out.

Climb on up.
Don’t be afraid
to look down
because
we’ll be by gone.
Oh! We’ll be bygones.

We’ll be by gone.
Oh! We’ll be bygones

when the wind picks up,
when the wind picks up,
when the wind picks up,
when the wind picks up.

(1/12 & 1/16/2020 – Gregory Street, Madison, Wisconsin)