Little Web

Moving pictures on a silver screen living their lives in a 2D scene I’m glued I’m glued, to the seat in this room I’m reminded of my youth I’m doomed, I’m doomed Little birds are picking up the bread I threw to them on this rare occasion Small orb weaver packing up her web her stomach fed we’ve agreed on paths to tread and where to lay her We set up, boundaries, poisoning what we call enemies there’s a bounty on your kind To your service we are blind