Powdered Spider

Greetings to thee, guest

Today I bring you a song about a black and hairy and villainous spider; now a dead, dry and dessicated, pulverized and powdered spider, named Carl. This is his song, though it was not written to honor him – for he was a thoroughly dishonorable sort of spider: dropping down onto heads and shoulders at inopportune times, casting webs across doorways, lurking in shoes. A horrible creature. But he died, then dried, then was crushed to dust on our cold hard floor. And this is his song. His memory. His cruel, once-goo-filled memory.

Well, no, not even that. Really, it’s not about Carl, or any spider, or anything at all. But songs need titles, and this song’s title is “powdered spider”. So be it.

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