We sat along the
mountainside
And talked of little things in life.
A Thursday
morning, stars in sky,
Apocalypse,
a butchers knife.
Later, under a moonlit sky
I saw again a little thing.
In the shape of a web caught fly
And suddenly I felt the sting.
The sting of heartbeat, sting of life,
Survivor instinct fell to me.
And so upon that lonely night,
I walked away and left him be.